Destiny Warp
by Aurelan
Summary: Before they can investigate the mystery of a wrecked Starfleet shuttle on the planet Skara, Kirk, Spock and McCoy are interrupted by an ion storm. Spock is lost in a transporter malfunction and the Enterprise is blasted light years away. Non-slash.
1. Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of a completed novel length story. Hope you enjoy. I'll post chapters regularly if people are enjoying the tale.

Aurelan

CHAPTER ONE

The planet filling the viewscreen was mesmerising in its beauty; every pair of eyes on the bridge not engaged in monitoring a console or analysing data, was drawn to it inexorably. "It's so…blue_._" Chekov said, with more than a hint of a wistful sigh in his tone.

"Quite like your Earth both in hue and in its atmospheric composition." pointed out First Officer Spock, looking up from his science station, his gaze transferring to the viewscreen where it lingered a moment before seeking out that of his commanding officer, Captain James Kirk, himself in thrall to the planet's charms.

Indeed the planet's blueness was startlingly similar to Earth's, and the curls of milky cloud that shrouded its landmasses lent it an air of fragility reminiscent of the iconic early images of that marbled blue planet captured by the first space missions. It resembled Terra most strikingly in the shape and size of its continents and in its proportion of land to water.

As well as being beautiful, the planet was also something of an enigma. Lying on the fringes of the neutral zone, but just inside Federation space, it had been explored by the landing party of a Starfleet spaceship several years previously and its population had been made up of primitive humanoids. In accordance with the Federation's policy of non-interference with the development of other life forms, these beings had been left to evolve naturally, and Skara placed off limits to further exploration.

The current puzzle surrounding Skara was that it appeared to be the source of a distress call that Uhura had picked up a few hours ago, then lost. Kirk's present dilemma was that it would take at least a week by subspace radio to obtain clearance from Starfleet to send a landing party down to the planet's surface. By its very nature a distress signal demanded an immediate response. What to do?

Kirk acknowledged his First Officer's look with a nod. The signal from Skara presented the Captain with a double dilemma. For the past several days, the Enterprise had been in pursuit of a Klingon battle cruiser that had crossed the invisible line separating Federation space from the neutral zone, a buffer zone of neutral space created under the terms of the Organian peace treaty. Their chase had been hampered by the presence of a hazardous maze of asteroids and a build up of ionic activity that was threatening to gather into a storm. If Kirk responded to the distress signal, he would have to abandon the chase. Under other circumstances, Kirk would have followed the Klingon ship deep into the neutral zone to encourage it on its way, but it was no longer a threat and the mayday was the more pressing issue.

The fact that Lieutenant Uhura had inexplicably 'lost' the communication – meaning that the transmission had abruptly ceased and she was now not even sure of its source – only heightened the sense of urgency he felt in reaching a decision.

"Abandon pursuit. Mr Sulu, maintain orbit around Skara. That battlecruiser was headed into the neutral zone, I doubt it will be back."

He tapped a button on the command chair and summoned his Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Montgomery Scott, known less formally as Scotty, to the bridge. At the touch of another button he was speaking to Dr Leonard McCoy, the Enterprise's irascible but genial Chief Medical Officer and, along with Spock, another of Kirk's particular friends.

"Dr McCoy to the transporter room. Spock and I are on our way."

In the turbolift, hands neatly folded behind his back, his head slightly bowed, Spock cleared his throat before speaking, "Jim," He began, immediately commanding Kirk's full attention; when Spock used his captain's first name, it was deliberate.

"It is exactly one year today since your brother Sam died on Deneva. I believe it is appropriate to offer my condolences." Despite his low mood, Kirk smiled at the formal nature of Spock's expression of concern.

"Thank you, Mr Spock, is, I believe the correct response." As he expected the Vulcan's right eyebrow arched into his brow and before he could say anything else, Kirk cut him off with a raised hand. "It's alright, Spock. I don't need reminding about Sam." He regretted that his words sounded reproachful, but he was aware that Mr Spock was the last person on the ship to take offence.

It was true, Kirk was in sombre mood. Exactly one year ago to the day his brother Sam and his wife Aurelan had died in agony on Deneva, victims of an amoeba- like parasite that had claimed millions of lives and threatened his entire crew. Spock had suffered agonising pain and been nearly blinded before the creature was overcome. Not a day that he would have wished to be seared into his memory but there it was, and the passing of a year had merely distanced him from the pain of his loss, not lessened it.

"You okay, Jim? I was intending to drop by this evening with a bottle of Saurian brandy." Kirk felt his irritation rise at McCoy's greeting.

"If this is about my brother Sam, spare me your compassion. Mr Spock has beaten you to it." This time the reproachful tone was sure to sting. Dr McCoy was definitely not the last person on the ship to take offence. Before McCoy could retaliate, Kirk mumbled an apology. "Damn!" he thought, regretfully, knowing his friend as he did, and, true to form, McCoy's quick blue eyes were the last thing Kirk saw boring into him as they dissolved along with the rest of him in the transporter's fractured light.

Kirk was aware that they were beaming down into a situation where the risks were incalculable; he was also risking invoking the censure of his superiors at Starfleet Command. Kirk sighed. It wouldn't be the first time he had beamed down into trouble.

From the records of the previous Federation visit to Skara, they knew where the Skarran natives were concentrated and a sensor sweep had confirmed the presence of humanoid life forms in a primitive stage of development, on the largest of Skara's five continents. Clearly, they could not have sent a signal into space, and but Kirk was no longer naïve enough to take that as an absolute. He had encountered plenty of worlds that threw up surprises and he was taking no risks. Two armed security guards, John Visnic and Ben Ryan, made up the rest of the landing party and Kirk's first words on this world had been to order the guards to set their phasers to stun.

Spock's tricorder was in action immediately they shimmered back into existence on the planet's surface.

"Captain. There is a river approximately two miles northeast of here. It is likely that any settlements would be found around its banks."

"Agreed. Let's head in that direction." Kirk snapped up the lid of his communicator, "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here, Captain."

"Scotty, Keep your eye on that ion storm. If the situation up there changes, I want to know about it." They had been riding out the storm for the past couple of days and it had been showing signs of blowing away from them, but these storms could be unpredictable and it was as well to be cautious.

"Aye, Captain. You'll be the first to know. Scott out."

"Captain" The urgency in Spock's voice caused everyone in the landing party to turn towards him. "We are being observed." Kirk swivelled round to face the direction Spock had subtly indicated with a movement of his eyes. Nothing. He knew Spock too well to question his judgement.

To a man, the landing party stood still, tensed, ready as they had been on countless other occasions, to act or react instantly. Nothing stirred, no sound disturbed the silence. Kirk relaxed his shoulders and shot his first officer a questioning look. McCoy could not resist a dig, "Hearing things, Spock? Time I tested those ears of yours." Spock had not relaxed his alert stance.

"It was not an audio signal that I tuned into Dr McCoy."

"Well then, what was it?"

"Something keener, an awareness of the presence of a sentient being close by."

"Do you mean you 'felt' something, Spock? Isn't that a little vague, imprecise…"

Spock, anything?" Kirk, ignoring McCoy's taunts, looking questioningly at Spock The Vulcan First Officer was taking readings on his tricorder.

"Negative, Captain. Whatever it is that I am sensing is beyond the range or capacity of our instruments."

"McCoy?"

"No ideas, Jim. The only parallel I can draw is with the Wraiths on Sallun V."

"Yes, an interesting comparison, but the Wraiths would register on our instruments." Spock commented.

"Would someone care to illuminate?" Kirk asked, impatiently.

"The Wraiths of Sallun V Captain, are invisible to the naked eye, have no constant physical form and can only be contacted through telepathic communication initiated by the Wraiths themselves. But they are not undetectable."

"Whoever or…whatever sent that distress signal seemed pretty keen to communicate." Kirk looked around him, sharpening his senses, as though heightening his awareness might put him in touch with whatever Spock was experiencing. The First Officer's senses were more sensitive than a human's. He was also a touch telepath. It bothered Kirk that this might make him vulnerable in ways that the others were not.

They had beamed down to a wooded landscape that was not unlike that of one of Earth's North temperate zones; the atmosphere was similar to Earth's. Kirk was aware of a chill in the air; the planet's sun hung low in the sky, emitting little warmth and a cutting wind was rising. It must be late in the year, if that had any meaning here. He rubbed his chin, conscious of the need to make a decision. "Let's get moving," he said, briskly, raising an arm to indicate a rocky prominence in the near distance.

As they moved ahead, Spock's awareness that they were accompanied by some intangible presence grew stronger. He offered no suggestions though he frowned at the readings on his tricorder as if unable to believe that a presence so keenly felt could go unrecorded.

It took them longer to reach the rocks than any of them would have supposed. A combination of thick, prickly undergrowth and inappropriate clothing slowed their progress. Even Spock, with his superior Vulcan strength and agility, seemed less spry than usual; the temperature was dropping as the day advanced, becoming too cool for someone born and bred in the searing heat of Vulcan. He had become accustomed to the Enterprise's controlled environment and was shivering perceptibly in spite of his exertions, when the ground under their feet became stonier and the incline steeper. "Cold, Spock?" McCoy asked quietly, his keen eyes missing nothing. Spock did not even grace him with a nod.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we rest here for a minute or two before attempting the ascent." Kirk said, good-humouredly, for the first time that day.

"What are you expecting to find on the other side of the mountain, Jim? Greener grass?" McCoy's question caused a raised eyebrow from Spock,

"Doctor, it is quite inaccurate to refer to the prominence before us as a 'mountain'. To qualify for that status it would need to be considerably more elevated in comparison with its immediate surroundings. I would estimate its height at no more than two hundred feet, which would place it firmly in the category of a hill."

Kirk enjoyed the look on McCoy's face and waited for his Chief Medical Officer's retort. It would be immediate and scathing and then his First Officer would retaliate with a withering look or a crushing word. He smiled inwardly, finding comfort in the reliability of his friends' behaviour; sometimes it was good to take refuge in the familiar, the known and predictable when so much in the universe they explored was unfamiliar and seemingly random. But Kirk never heard McCoy's retort. Something whizzed past his ear and he put a hand to the side of his head to rub the stinging sensation left on his scalp; his fingers came away warm and sticky with blood. "What the blazes…" he mouthed reeling round to see the other members of the landing party duck and swerve as they were assailed with a shower of arrows.

"Down!" Kirk yelled as he and the others hit the ground. A second shower of arrows cascaded over their heads and Kirk risked a look to see how the others were faring. He saw Spock, looking back, straining to see where the onslaught hailed from, catch an arrow on the back of a hand shielding his face. The sight of green blood shocked Kik as it always did. He looked around for cover but there was no need. The attack had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Tentatively, Kirk rose to his feet. Immediately Spock's voice was in his ear,

"Captain we cannot assume that our attackers are out of ammunition."

"If you have a more helpful suggestion Mr Spock, I suggest you air it now."

Spock raised an eyebrow but did not reply. He too stood up and looked around. "An invisible enemy." He remarked.

"I don't think so, Sir. Captain, look at this." One of the security guards, John Visnic. He was bending over what looked to be just another of the local rocks scattered over the hillside, pointing to a thin, frayed rope of twisted green creeper.

"A tripwire?" Kirk asked, questioningly. "We triggered a trap."

"It would explain the randomised attack. A shower of projectiles aimed over a wide area to cause alarm and confusion." Spock interjected.

"It certainly achieved that." McCoy observed. He was examining the wound on the back of Spock's hand, which was still oozing blood. Ignoring Spock's protestations that the wound was minor, he extracted a spray from his medikit and directed it at the back of the First Officer's hand. When he had finished, Spock knelt down to examine the trap.

"A rather crude construction, Captain, with limited range. The level of skill required to construct such a device would approximate to that of this planet's primitive humanoids." Spock looked around. "Most probably designed to catch wild creatures of some kind."

"Jim, these arrowtips have been impregnated with something." McCoy said, alarmed, "Most likely a toxin of some sort. Was anyone else hit?" Visnic's arm was grazed slightly and Ryan poked a finger through a tear in his trouser leg to reveal a small cut. Only McCoy seemed to have escaped unharmed. He waved his tricorder over the others and shrugged, "No sign of anything sinister." He concluded, "But I'll take regular readings. In the meantime, let me know if any of you have symptoms."

"Let's carry on. Proceed with caution." Kirk said. "Stay together. Look out for more traps.

They reached the summit of the hill without further incident. The vista they enjoyed from the top revealed nothing more than a continuation of the landscape they had left at their backs – an expanse of dense woodland apparently devoid of any trace of settlement by intelligent beings. "Pity there's no time to go hiking." Kirk remarked, almost wistfully; the landscape reminded him of long, happy days spent hiking in the vast wildernesses of North America's national parks.

"And no time to study the creatures that inhabit this world. Perhaps it would be possible to spend time here conducting a scientific survey of the flora and fauna, and the mineral resources. At first glance this world looks perfect for colonization." McCoy smirked. Spock was itching to be let loose with his scientific instruments and recorders and was not above couching his desire in terms that would justify spending more time here. Jim too, smiled. Spock was an excellent First Officer; he was also an excellent Science Officer and he recognised an opportunity when he saw it.

"Let's not allow ourselves to be seduced by this planet's abundant charms. I, for one would like to know where that distress signal came from." McCoy said, voicing what the others were thinking.

Kirk did not answer. The Enterprise's sweep of Skara's surface had detected no signs of advanced life; no settlements, no cities, no hints of emergent civilisations, no life forms capable of making that leap from merely inhabiting a world to leaving some kind of a mark to prove their existence to future generations. In the back of his mind, as he surmised from McCoy's remark must be in the back of all their minds, was the question of what other beings were on Skara with the technological know how to send messages into space?

Kirk was experiencing a moment of uncharacteristic indecision. He was acutely aware that there was little more than a day to be lost if they were to outrun the approaching ion storm. Much as he abhorred a mystery left unsolved, time spent chasing chimeras was time that could be better spent – they could always return when the storm had passed. He was on the point of signalling the Enterprise to give the go ahead for beam up when Ryan's voice grabbed his attention,

"Captain, over there!" Kirk followed the direction of Ryan's pointing arm and saw immediately what the young Security Guard was so excited about. Nothing much. Just a glint of reflected sunlight, probably nothing more than a rock with a thread of metal ore running through it, but it warranted further investigation.

It took nearly half an hour of descending slowly through tangled, jagged undergrowth to reach the remains of the spacecraft. It lay almost concealed by the encroaching vegetation, upended, splintered, the markings and the writing on its side instantly recognisable.

"Jim, that's a.."

"I know what it is, Bones." Kirk answered, "The question is, what the hell is a Federation shuttlecraft doing in this part of the galaxy?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Spock reached it first. He began hauling branches away from the hull as the others caught up. "Captain. This is from the SS Curie. Spock would have protested that he was incapable of expressing astonishment, but at that moment the emotion was all but tattooed across his face.

"The SS Curie was destroyed six months ago in a suspected encounter with a Klingon battle cruiser. There were no survivors. Klingons take no prisoners." Kirk said, soberly.

"Could some of the crew have escaped?" asked Visnic.

"Even if they did, it's unlikely anyone could have survived a crash landing like this." McCoy observed.

"Let's take a look inside." Kirk said, leading the way. The hull door hung askew and as he tested its stability a snarl greeted him from within and before he knew what was happening he was knocked violently to the ground by a blur of mottled fur and bared, savage teeth and claws. It was over in an instant, Spock reacting with lightening speed with a phaser stun and Visnic hauling the beast off him, then McCoy bending over him, eyes darting everywhere, checking for injuries.

"Thank you, gentleman, I'm unharmed. Bones, really, I'm fine." He reiterated as McCoy opened his mouth to protest.

"At least let me help you up." The medic grumbled, extending an arm, which Kirk grasped, allowing his friend to feel useful. He brushed himself down and turned to look at his assailant, which Spock was already examining with his tricorder. "Definitely some kind of feline species, though the ears are puzzling." He remarked, examining the animal's floppy, rabbit-like ears.

"Really, Mr Spock?" McCoy commented, his voice rich with amusement. Spock's pointed Vulcan ears were often the target of the medic's humour.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we attend to the matter at hand while tiddles there is out cold" Kirk said, as he once again made to enter the shuttle. Nothing else stirred from inside as he proceeded more cautiously this time, past the skewed, mangled door. Enough light flooded through the opening for Kirk to see immediately that the crew of the shuttle had not died on impact though the vessel had clearly crash-landed. He had expected to find bodily remains slumped over the controls, or still strapped into seats, trapped by mangled metal or crushed by fallen debris.

"Evidence of blood, quite a bit of it." McCoy said, moving between the seats. "Poor devils may have escaped the Klingons only to die of their wounds."

"Some would consider death a kinder fate." Visnic said, without emotion. No one contradicted him. For those who had been subjected to the Klingon's mind-sifter, death in the form of suicide was an all-too frequent occurrence. Kirk's eyes flicked momentarily to Spock's face but if the Vulcan were remembering his own experience of that particular instrument of torture on Organia, there was no hint of it in his expression. Nor had Kirk expected to see any.

"Captain, it may be possible to extract some information from the logbook." Spock was bending over the controls. "If Mr Scott could arrange for some equipment to be beamed down I believe I could make the necessary repairs to the console." Kirk nodded. The destruction of the Curie had been a pivotal moment in Federation/Klingon relations; any opportunity to glean more information about its fate would be of huge importance to historians and to Starfleet. "Very well, Mr Spock."

"Well, if Spock's going to be hanging around, I guess I could too; might be able to get some DNA samples from those bloodstains." McCoy said in a workmanlike tone.

"Spock, that 'feeling' you had back there, has it gone?" Kirk asked. Spock did not answer immediately. "Spock?" The Vulcan straightened up and Kirk could tell that he was uncomfortable. "What is it, Spock?" McCoy asked, alert to the Science Officer's uncharacteristic hesitation.

"The 'feeling' as you describe it has gone. However, it was quite real." Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. Ever since Spock had sensed the death of over three hundred Vulcans aboard the SS Intrepid, his intuition, or ESP, or whatever it was that allowed him to tap into what they could not, had been taken very seriously. Kirk felt suddenly restless.

"Visnic, Ryan, check out the area around the shuttle, see if you can find anything that might help us locate any survivors. And…be careful."

"Could the survivors have sent the distress signal, do you think? McCoy said.

"Possible, doctor." Spock said. "But not from here. These instruments have not been repaired."

"I want some answers." Kirk said, impatiently. "This whole set up feels wrong. The Curie was nowhere near this sector when it disappeared. How did one of its shuttlecraft end up so far from the scene of its destruction?"

Kirk whipped out his communicator and spoke to his Chief Engineer. Having described the situation and ascertained what equipment Spock would need to effect his repairs, he then requested that Scotty have Ensign Chekov check the computer database for archived material relating to the destruction of the SS Curie, adding, "Pay particular attention to recent entries. Kirk out."

Kirk tried not to let his irritation show in his voice. As he watched his CMO and Science Officer set to work when the equipment arrived, he felt like a spare part. Once or twice, he glanced in Spock's direction but the Vulcan was lying on his back under the control console. The first Officer's conviction that he had sensed a presence close by had left Jim with a sense of unease.

Sighing, Kirk moved outside, immediately feeling the planet's unrelenting wind whip through his shirt. Was it his imagination or was it colder than before? He shivered involuntarily. This day was never going to be easy. Inescapably, memories of Sam's inert, contorted body on Deneva, and later Aurelan's agonising death aboard the Enterprise, never far from his thoughts over the past year, were bound to crowd in on him on this first anniversary. McCoy had counselled him after the event, explained the stages in grieving, warned him about the psychological implications of bottling up his feelings, and had watched disbelief and anger spill over into unrestrained grief over several long evenings and many glasses of the good doctor's best bourbon.

And Spock had helped. "I grieve with thee." He had said in that formal Vulcan parlance and Kirk had nodded, understanding that there was a level of meaning beyond the words that his friend could not express outright.

Kirk's communicator beeped abruptly. "Scott here, Captain. Mr Chekov has some results for you."

"Ceptin" the Russian ensign's eager, boyish voice took over. "An interesting piece of information from the archive on the Curie. The captain's log recorded that the ship's shuttle had been hijacked two days before the incident took place. The ship had been carrying a passenger named Mark Hunter, a scientist; he was reported missing and a search of his cabin revealed that he had been harbouring a stowaway."

"A stowaway!" Kirk's surprise was evident. "Do we know their identity?"

"Negative." Chekov answered, sounding eerily like Spock.

""Keep digging. Kirk out."

"Anything, Spock?" Kirk asked. His First Officer was still sprawled on the floor of the Shuttle, his head and shoulders under the console. At Kirk's words, he pulled himself out into a sitting position.

"Negative, Captain. The damage is more extensive than it first appeared– I suspect deliberate sabotage by the crew themselves." Spock's voice was solemn. Kirk related what he had learned from Chekov.

"It is possible that the hijackers could make the distance to Skara from where the Curie was patrolling; they would have had limited warp capability." Observed Spock.

"Was Skara their intended destination? And did these hijackers have anything to do with what happened to the Curie?" Kirk's question hung in the air as his communicator beeped again, and he whipped it out.

"Captain, that ion storm's whipping itself up into a frenzy and it's headed straight for us." Scott's voice, apologetic but urgent. Kirk looked around at his assembled landing party and decided that there was no pressing need for them to remain on the planet's surface when the safety of the Enterprise and her crew was at risk. "Five to beam up, Mr Scott." He instructed his Chief Engineer before Spock had a chance to request permission to remain behind.

McCoy stepped off the transporter platform first, resisting the urge he always felt to check that all of his body parts had been reassembled in some semblance of correctness.

"Captain!" Even as his Chief Engineer spoke, Kirk was aware that something was wrong. He spun around on the transporter platform taking in the members of the landing party one by one but he already knew who was missing.

"Where's Spock? McCoy's voice, slightly panicky. Kirk fought down his own rising panic as he barked out Scotty's name, demanding an answer by his tone.

"I dunno, Captain. He was there and…and then he wasn't." Kirk leapt off the transporter platform and over to the controls. "Explain yourself, Mr Scott." He said restrainedly.

"I mean he was there – I saw him materialise – well partially materialise and then he just disappeared. These storms play merry hell with the transporter mechanisms. I don't know if I dare try again."

"Captain." Kirk turned to Visnic enquiringly. "I was standing next to Mr Spock when we beamed up. I saw him on the transporter platform too – I saw him and then it was like Mr Scott said, he just disappeared.

Kirk resisted the urge to punch the transporter console, "Try again, Scotty." He said, tersely. Scotty made one or two adjustments and attempted a second beam up using Spock's last known coordinates. Kirk and McCoy exchanged brief, worried glances as they waited. There was a musical humming sound as the transporter activated, then nothing.

"I'm sorry, Captain." Scott's tone echoed the alarm Kirk felt as his eyes fixed on the empty platform, "Wherever Mr Spock is, the transporter can't lock onto him and even if it could, there's no guarantee it would beam him back here in one piece."

A sweep of the area that the landing party had covered during its time on the planet, revealed no trace of Spock. Kirk frowned, contemplating his options. The ion storm had whipped itself up to force six and was approaching fast; they could not risk using the transporter again at such close proximity.

The best chance of evading the storm was to warp out of orbit and outrun it. Meaning days before they could return. What would days mean for Spock? McCoy had already given him the run down of what might befall the Vulcan on the planet's surface – if indeed that was where Spock was – everything from death from exposure to death at the claws of the giant, rabbit-eared wildcat. And that, the good doctor emphasised, was assuming he had made it back to the planet's surface without injury. Not that Kirk needed reminding that Spock could be in danger. The thought had not left his mind since he stepped off the transporter following the Vulcan's failure to materialise.

Exhaustive checks of the transporter system had confirmed what Scotty had suspected from the outset – that whatever had been responsible for Spock's disappearance was connected with the storm; there was no other evidence of malfunction. Despite the heightened risk of transporter disruption from the storm, Kirk's instinct was to beam back down and instigate a search for his First Officer. But where to start? And he had the safety of over four hundred other lives to consider.

There was a logical viewpoint. The planet was not hostile to life. If anyone could survive down there, Spock could and that was the key factor in Kirk's final decision. He steeled himself for the inevitable onslaught of emotional censure from his ship's surgeon. The expected tirade ended with the plea, "Jim. Spock is your friend. You can't just abandon him down there. At least let me go down with a search party."

"You know the risks of using the transporter this close to an ionic front, Bones. Are you in a hurry to revisit the ISS Enterprise, or something worse?"

The reminder of the harrowing hours spent aboard the Enterprise's evil counterpart in the mirror universe they had been thrust into when transporting during an ion storm had been enough to silence McCoy for the moment but he was far from assuaged. As he had turned away, Kirk had called him back, "Bones, I need you on my side. You know what Spock means to me. You also know that I have the lives of every man and woman aboard this ship to consider. " If he had expected words of reassurance from his CMO, none were forthcoming.

"You do what your _duty_ tells you, _Captain_." Was McCoy's brusque reply. Kirk sighed. Bones needed to vent his frustration; apologies would follow later when he had calmed down

And now even more pressing matters were at hand. Uhuru was picking up signals from the far side of the planet that could be indicative of nothing other than a Klingon battlecruiser. Kirk's bad day had just taken a turn for the worse.

He missed Spock's presence on the bridge. The Vulcan's quiet support, his suggestions that often second-guessed Kirk's own, or his cool logic that counterbalanced Kirk's gut reactions; all unnoticed when he was there, their lack keenly felt in his absence.

"His deflector shields are inactive, Captain!" Chekov informed him from the science station. Kirk stared at the viewscreen where the battlecruiser loomed large and threatening, its predatory design psychologically unsettling. What was its business here?

"Captain. We are being hailed by the Klingon vessel." Uhura's voice.

"Put it on visual, Lieutenant." Kirk ordered, leaning forward in his chair. A buzz of static preceded the communication. Kirk wondered if he was the only one to feel a chill as the image of the Klingon Captain swam into view on the screen.

"Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Your fame precedes you." Mocking, of course.

"I regret that yours – doesn't." Kirk replied, "To whom am I speaking?" The Klingon Commander bristled perceptibly, then smiled, or snarled, who could tell the difference? "My name is Commander K'Sath of the ISS Vr'tsak"

"Commander K'Sath, your vessel is in Federation space. Your continued presence here constitutes an act of war. Please state your purpose." In these instances, Kirk thought, it was best to be direct. K'Sath's aggressive posture and look were no surprise.

"My apologies, Captain. Our navigation system has been compromised by the build up of ionic radiation in this area of space. It is for this reason that we have strayed into Federation space."

"You lie. We've been pursuing you for days. I repeat, what is your purpose in being here?" Kirk was aware that he too, had adopted an aggressive pose, leaning forward in his chair, eyes narrowed.

"I will not explain myself to you, Human." The Klingon Commander's anger showed in his face for a second before the viewscreen went blank.

"Ceptin, enemy deflector shields have been activated." Kirk leapt from his seat, "Sulu, deflectors up!" he ordered, "Lock photon torpedoes! Sound red alert!" The orders came a split second too late. Kirk was thrown to the floor as the Enterprise took a hit from the Klingon ship. Kirk jumped to his feet spitting blood and orders. "Lock onto target. Fire photon torpedoes!"

Seconds later, the Bridge was plunged into darkness and its occupants thrown from their seats as the ship listed violently to the side. This time Kirk's head collided with the rail and he suffered a moment's insensibility. As the lights flickered back on, his first, sluggish thought was one of disbelief. No known weapon was capable of breaking through the shields to inflict that much damage. Then, he remembered the ionic front; it had been accelerating and must have caught them up.

"Anybody hurt?" he yelled above the din of the red alert siren and the waves of aftershock from the storm's blast, but if anyone answered, their words were drowned out as a second wave rocked the ship, this time buffeting it forcefully from side to side. The lights winked and went out a second time.

Kirk crawled to his command chair and felt for the arm. Finding the button, he punched it on, "Scotty! We need back up power on the bridge."

"Doing my best, Captain. The Chief Engineer's voice was steady. "We've caught the edge of the storm. At least we're not right in the thick o' it yet, but it's draining our power just to hold position. Can we lower our shields, Captain? That Klingon ship's likely in the same state as us."

"Negative." Kirk answered. "They stay in place until I know the status of that battlecruiser."

"Ceptin! Klingon wessel has lowered its shields." Kirk's first thought was that it was some kind of ruse, but what Klingon commander would leave himself vulnerable in the midst of an altercation? The battlecruiser must have taken more punishment from the storm than the Enterprise.

"Scotty, do we have enough power to launch a photon torpedo?" There was a moment's silence, before the Chief Engineer replied, "Aye, Captain. Just enough." Kirk sat back waiting; the battlecruiser was vulnerable – damaged – why else would its Commander lower its shields?

Chekov looked at Kirk expectantly, waiting for the instruction to attack, but Kirk did not give it. The storm raged around them and on the viewscreen they saw the Klingon ship blasted by a lightening flash of ionic energy.

"Sir, their hull has been ripped apart!" Sulu cried. There was a shocked silence. The knowledge that their enemy had just been rendered useless did nothing to dispel the tension on the bridge. As if to remind them of the continuing danger, another shuddering wave engulfed the Enterprise and once again the power fluctuation caused the lights to dim. Kirk sat tight waiting for full power to be restored. "Speak to me, Scotty," he said calmly.

"Ceptain, there is a craft leaving the Klingon wessel; it is on course for the planet."

"They'll never make it in this storm!" Sulu cried, his voice echoing the disbelief felt by everyone on the bridge. Kirk stared at the viewscreen. Conditions aboard the battlecruiser must be critical – it was beyond salvage. What was going through the Klingon Commander's head?

"He's going to self-destruct!" It must have been the blow to his head still slowing his mental processes. No Klingon commander would surrender to the Federation, or allow his ship to be boarded. Kirk slammed his fist on the intercom, "Scotty. Can you give me maximum warp. "

"Captain, our energy reserves are already depleted and this storm's playing merry hell with the antimatter in the warp core. Not to mention the dangers of attempting maximum warp in an ion storm."

"Thank you Mr Scott. I am aware of the dangers. I am also aware of the danger of being in close proximity to an exploding Klingon battlecruiser in the middle of an ion storm."

Scotty's reply was inaudible, perhaps deliberately so, but he gave Kirk what he needed. "Sulu. Get us out of here!"

There was a blinding flash on the viewscreen and the whole ship shuddered as it strove to obtain maximum warp. There was nothing for it but to sit tight and ride it out. The floor came up to meet Kirk again despite his best efforts to maintain his position and this time he felt the pain of ribs cracking from the impact. Whether from his injury or from the effects of the storm, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Sulu sprawled on the floor next him, neither of them able to pull themselves to their feet. Chekov had been thrust against the rail and was hanging on with both hands. Uhura's seat was empty and Kirk strained to turn to see where she had been flung. There was no point in shouting words of command or reassurance; nothing would be heard above the din.

The first thing he noticed when the noise stopped, the ship steadied and he was able, with Sulu's help, to pull himself upright, was that the stars looked different. Giving Sulu a few moments to reorient himself, Kirk waited, knowing that the helmsman was already on it. "How far?" He asked, unable to contain his impatience. Sulu swivelled round in his chair and his answer was not what Kirk needed to hear. Scott beat him to the intercom, "Captain, our warp function is seriously compromised. I can give you warp one at best."

"Well," Kirk sighed, at least they were not reduced to impulse power only.

There was another shred of good news. "If we can make it to Starbase Ten we can repair our damage in a matter of days." Tempered by more bad, "But at warp one, it's going to take us the best part of a week. Kirk ordered Sulu to set a course for Starbase Ten before heading for the turbolift. Only after the doors whooshed shut behind him did he give vent to his frustration, punching a fist hard into the wall, almost welcoming the pain as a release.

_Captain's Log Stardate 3726.9. It is three days since the ion storm inflicted crippling damage on the Enterprise. Our use of maximum warp in the middle of the storm to escape the impact of the enemy vessel's self-destructive explosion, has thrown us light years off course and my First Officer remains stranded on Skara, his condition, unknown. We are on course for Starbase Ten to effect repairs, using minimum warp, and are still two days away from that destination. It is my intention to return to Skara when the Enterprise is back to full capacity, to search for Commander Spock. In the meantime I have been conducting research into the Curie incident in which a Federation ship was destroyed in a hostile Klingon encounter. Could it be that survivors of the Curie disaster made it to Skara, and, if so, is it reasonable to assume that they may be living there still and that the distress signal picked up by the Enterprise was sent by them? _

Jim completed his entry and rested his head on the console on the desk before him. For a few seconds he drifted off into sleep and was interrupted, ironically by the very man who had been urging him to take some rest for the better part of two days.

Leonard McCoy cursed under his breath as he entered Jim's cabin and saw the Captain raise his head sleepily, from the console. "Your bunk would be more comfortable." He said, noting Kirk's furrowed brow, the evidence of fatigue around his eyes. He raised a hand defensively as Kirk made to deflect his concern, "Save it, Jim. I'm not going to waste my breath telling you what you already know."

"Then why are you here?" Kirk asked, his tone less challenging than weary. "To tell me again to stop blaming myself for abandoning Spock on Skara?"

"I refer you to my previous answer." McCoy said. Kirk winced.

"Put that thing away." Kirk snapped as McCoy advanced on him, mediscanner in hand. "I've got cracked ribs. There's nothing you can do except give me painkillers and I've got plenty left."

"Because you haven't used any of them." McCoy noted, reproachfully.

"I need a clear head." Was Kirk's only reply."

"For what, Jim? We're still at least two days distant from Starbase Ten. There's nothing you can do until the Enterprise is back to operating at full capacity. Why not take the chance to get yourself back on form? You've got Chekov working overtime on retrieving information on the Curie incident. If he unearths anything important, you'll be the first to know."

Kirk sighed. McCoy was right. He crossed to his bunk and stretched out, covering his eyes with his arm.

"I knew you'd see sense, eventually." McCoy said, the relief in his voice palpable. As he turned to leave, Jim called him back.

"What if he's hurt, Bones?" He asked, quietly.

"You're asking _me,_ that?" McCoy answered, "The thought has scarcely left my mind since he disappeared. My kit is already packed and I've left nothing to chance."

"That's if he's even on Skara. He disappeared as a result of a transporter malfunction in the middle of an ion storm. He could be anywhere." Kirk's voice conveyed a sense of despondency that he would not have revealed to any other man aboard ship.

"If he were here, he would say that it's not logical to speculate without the full facts. All we can do is hope." McCoy answered.

"Hope is a human emotion, Doctor; Spock wouldn't approve of that either." Kirk's only reply was the sound of the doors whooshing shut as the medic left the captain's quarters.

Many thanks to those who have reviewed. There's a lot of plot to this tale so I hope readers will stick with it. Reviews would be great! Aurelan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three **

Cold. That was what he felt first. For a split second the illogical thought that he had been beamed into the icy vastness of space entered his head and was immediately dispelled. He remembered partially materialising on the transporter platform, and Visnic's startled expression as he began to dissolve before the security guard's eyes, then nothing, until now.

Shivering, Spock took stock of his situation. He was aware that he had lost some time. For one thing it had been daylight when Kirk had given the order for beam up; now, night was gathering around him and he could see faint traces of the planet's six moons in the darkening sky. For another, he had a sense of time having passed. He had been – what? Unconscious? Instinctively he touched his head but there was no sensation of pain and apart from the cold, no discomfort in any other part of his body.

More disturbing perhaps, than his sense of losing time, was his awareness that he was in a different place from the area of beam up. Spock looked around. There was no woodland here; as far as he could make out in the near dark, he was in a U-shaped, boulder-strewn valley, most likely of glacial origin and offering little in the way of shelter.

"Spock to Enterprise. Come in." He said, not really expecting a response. As he flipped the lid of his communicator shut, he regretted the worry that his non-appearance must be causing his Captain and he could all but hear McCoy ranting about his worst fears concerning the transporter being confirmed. He could do nothing to allay either man's concern.

At least he was unharmed. There seemed no alternative but to walk and seek shelter. He had no means of taking his bearings and for no other reason than that he could see the largest moon in front of him, Spock began to walk in the direction of its ascent.

He was grateful for the light of six moons, later, when after hours of walking he was still able to pick his way around the polished boulders with relative ease. At least the physical exertion and concentrating on hypothesising about what had happened helped keep the cold at bay.

Scotty had warned about the encroaching ion storm. The most likely explanation for his failed beam up was a transporter malfunction due to the storm's proximity. Such occurrences were common enough. One thing Spock did know was that Jim would be looking for him, and that he too, would be running hypotheses through his head, probably with McCoy's voice sounding in his ear. Despite his Vulcan reserve, Spock took a little comfort from that thought as he continued his moonlit scramble over the valley's endless rocky floor.

The planet's many moons fascinated Spock. Vulcan had no moon but, after spending so much time in the company of humans, he was well acquainted with the different kind of fascination that Earth's moon held for them. It never ceased to amaze him how much myth and folklore and indeed high art had been inspired by what was in fact a quite unexceptional example of a planetary satellite. Its association with love was the most perplexing of all. Jim and McCoy had tried to explain it to him once or twice, but he was no less baffled at the end of their explanations than at the start; how was it possible for a woman's face to be more beautiful by moonlight than by other, more practical forms of artificial illumination?

This planet's moons were more spectacular than Earth's, bigger, brighter and so close together that they seemed to hang in the night sky like opal beads connected by an invisible thread. As well as considering their astronomical interest, Spock found himself wondering in what kind of awe or esteem the natives of this world held their lunar bodies. It occurred to him that Earth's moon had dark associations also, with madness and men howling into the darkness as they transformed into beasts, and he shuddered involuntarily, thinking of the wildcat that had attacked Jim.

For a while he concentrated on picking his way over and around the rocks and boulders without stumbling. At an estimate – Spock loathed the inaccuracy – he had been walking for around three and a half hours. He was not yet tired but he was beginning to feel thirsty. He could, he knew do without water for some time yet and he was confident of finding a source of water before he became dangerously dehydrated, for, after three and a half hours of walking he could see the landscape beginning to change, stones and rubble gradually giving way to large rocks and boulders and the way ahead punctuated with vegetation. In another hour he would be walking through forest and where there were trees there would be water. And giant wildcats with floppy ears.

The evolutionary implications of the wildcat's ears was occupying Spock's thoughts when his own ears, with their acute hearing became aware suddenly of a droning sound overhead. Spock looked up. His eyes tracked an object moving rapidly across the night sky following a downward trajectory. His first thought was that Kirk had sent a search party by shuttle to look for him, but he quickly dismissed this possibility remembering Scotty's warning about the ionic front. By the time it was close enough for him to see that it was indeed a craft of some kind, within minutes the craft was also close enough for him to recognise the insignia of the Klingon Empire emblazoned on its hull.

From out of nowhere, a wave of anxiety engulfed him. Spock leaned back against a large boulder, shocked and puzzled by the intensity of the sensation that gripped him. "I am a Vulcan." He said aloud, "I am in control of my emotions." He repeated the words over and over, all the while acutely aware that his emotions were, for the moment controlling him.

The moment passed. Shaken by his reaction to witnessing the Klingon shuttle, Spock struggled to regain his composure as he watched the craft, which was clearly in distress, plummet downwards between the hills distantly ahead of him. He listened for any sound of an explosion and, when none was forthcoming, surmised that the pilot had managed some kind of landing. This was not a comforting thought, accompanied as it was by a too vivid recollection of his experience of being a captive of the Klingons on Organia.

Spock turned his attention to his uncharacteristic reaction, attempting to rationalise the cause. As if directing himself to the answer, he scratched the back of his left hand and felt an irritation on the surface of his skin. Was he experiencing a delayed effect of the substance Dr McCoy had discovered on the Skarran arrowhead? The doctor had used a routine spray to treat the wound, which had seemed minor since the dart had merely skimmed the surface of his skin, leaving a slight abrasion.

The CMO had run his mediscanner over Spock and infection by a foreign substance would surely have been indicated. Looking at the wound now, Spock was in no doubt that even if it were not the source of his wave if anxiety, it was a slight cause for concern. A ridge of inflamed greenish flesh surrounded the cut, which, far from being closed, was open and weeping.

Spock tore a length of material from his trouser leg and wrapped it around his hand, tying it in a knot. If the arrowhead really had been impregnated with poison, he reasoned, he might be in grave danger, but nagging at him also was the thought that Jim Kirk and the two security guards had also been nicked, albeit slightly. Logic prevailed over his anxiety on this matter; the Captain was aboard ship and medical facilities were at hand in case of emergency.

Spock walked for another two hours before locating both a source of running water – a small stream - and a place to rest for the remainder of the night. Knowing little of the planet's wild creatures, Spock opted for a hollowed out space in the trunk of a dead tree. The hollow was uninhabited and its earthy floor was surprisingly soft; he had rested in worse conditions. Even so, he did not expect to sleep; he was tense and more on his guard than the current level of danger warranted. More Tired than he knew, he slept for several hours.

In the early morning, he woke feeling groggy and disoriented. Used to instant alertness upon waking, he looked around him, unsure of his surroundings. He was cold and his left hand when he used it to prop himself up into a sitting position throbbed with pain. He did not bother to unwrap his makeshift bandage, sensing what he would see. It would be necessary, and soon, to find some kind of tool with which to cut the wound and purge the infection. As for the poison already in his system, there was little he could do about that.

Spock drank long and thirstily from the stream and examined the trees as he walked, hoping to find some fruit or berries to sustain him. Some green and purple-veined berries looked promising but, without his tricorder, he could not be sure that anything he picked was safe to eat, and he opted to defer eating until it became a matter of survival.

As he made his way through the forest, Spock had the distinct sensation of being watched. He could no longer be sure whether this resulted from a real presence in the woods with him or from the workings of his own mind, therefore he chose to ignore it and suppress the urge to keep watching his back.

The animal trap took him by surprise. Sharpened wooden claws sprang shut around his ankle, biting cruelly into his flesh. When the waves of pain and nausea passed, Spock looked down to see a simple pronged trap designed to ensnare a wild animal. His right foot was held fast between its bloodied teeth.

His attempt to push the teeth apart with his hands was hopeless and he reached for a branch from a tree close by to use as a lever. The branch snapped in two. Selecting a larger branch, Spock tried again, this time managing to prise the sharpened wooden teeth apart just enough to free his leg. He lay, exhausted with the effort before summoning the strength to inspect the damage. There was a copious amount of blood and his foot was punctured with deep holes on either side. Only the fact that the trap had been designed for a smaller creature had saved his leg from being pierced right through.

It seemed sensible to put some distance between himself and the trap, although curiosity to see who came by to find their quarry almost made him stay concealed in the undergrowth. Before departing, Spock wiped all traces of green blood off the prongs using a bundle of leaves. He deliberated whether to reset the device, but decided against it, reluctant to endanger another creature's life.

While he was examining the damage to his foot, Spock heard a sound that he knew did not originate inside his own head. The sound of women's laughter was one which he was used to hearing aboard the Enterprise, and one which he sometimes found perplexing, though, oddly, not displeasing. In his experience, women laughed more readily than men and he was not always able to ascertain the cause. Uhura, an otherwise excellent officer, was prone to fits of inexplicable mirth, particularly when in the company of other women, and often when he was in the vicinity.

Spock withdrew into the undergrowth and waited as the sound of laughter and now also, voices grew more distinct. Within moments two girls passed directly in front of him, so close that he found himself holding his breath lest they should detect the sound of his breathing. From his hiding place Spock could see that the girls were humanoid in form; something about their easy laughter suggested that they were very young. Both had long, fair hair and they were dressed in loose fitting robes tied at the waist; their striking similarity to each other suggested they must be sisters.

Spock considered his options. Should he make his presence known to these young women, who must have come from a nearby settlement, in the hope of finding food and shelter and perhaps, treatment for his injuries? Or, would it be wiser to follow them and take stock of the community they were a part of, the better to assess how he might be received?

The necessity of reaching a decision by logic or any other means was abruptly taken from him as he heard the snarling sound of some wild creature that sounded familiar. In a clearing straight ahead, he came face to face with a floppy-eared wildcat like the one that Jim had encountered in the Curie's Shuttle. Only this was obviously the male of the species, large and with a lion-like mane of matted hair. The ears, Spock noted with interest, were speckled with purplish spots.

That the creature was a dangerous predator was evident from its pacing and hungry drooling; strangely the girls seemed unafraid and merely looked from the creature to Spock, as if they themselves were in no danger. Spock wondered if the beast had been attracted by the coppery scent of his blood.

Advancing on the wildcat, Spock raised his stick in the air, at the same time uttering an aggressive howl, hoping to scare it off, but the animal growled back and coiled itself to pounce. As the creature sprang, Spock reacted with lightening speed slamming his stick down hard on its shoulder, but it recovered fast and mauled at his arm with a heavy, clawed paw, knocking the stick from his grasp. In seconds, the beast was on top of him, pinning him to the forest floor with its immense weight, razor sharp fangs moving closer to his neck.

With his injured hand Spock sought the place on its shoulder where the nerves were vulnerable and squeezed but the animal writhed free of his grip and snarled fiercely as it made to tear at his face. Spock felt himself weaken. He could not hope to wrestle against the creature's superior strength for long.

"Hyaah!" The girl's bloodcurdling cry startled both Spock and the wildcat. The beast looked up and received a firm blow to the snout – one of the girls had armed herself with Spock's stick. The wildcat was startled momentarily allowing Spock time to find the spot on its neck and squeeze; immediately the hairy mass went limp and sank on top of him.

He lay, exhausted with the wildcat's now lifeless form draped across him. Then, suddenly, the two girls were by his side, pushing and pulling at the creature. Spock summoned strength from somewhere to help them and at last he was freed.

"Thank you." He said, unsure, whether, like the humans he had encountered, this species required that which would be tacitly understood among Vulcans, to be put into words.

"The thanks are ours." Said the taller girl, her voice faint. Close to them now, Spock could see that they were not much more than children. It seemed strange that they should be allowed to roam these woods when there were such dangerous creatures abroad. As if reading his mind, the girl said, "It is almost unheard of for a sardur to be found in this part of the forest." She looked Spock up and down with an expression of compassion on her face. Her younger companion had been observing him silently, also with compassion and – something else – curiosity?

"You are hurt." She said.

"Indeed." Spock replied, unsure now, which of his wounds troubled him the most.

"That green substance – it is blood?"

"Regrettably, yes." Spock replied, struggling to stand. Instantly both girls moved to help him. "You must come with us. Our people will help you." Spock nodded.

There seemed no logical reason to refuse their offer of help. In all probability, he had just saved their lives, and all but the most hostile of communities would see that as a gesture of goodwill.

The young women placed themselves either side of the Vulcan and he leaned on them lightly, conscious that his weight would soon tire them out. They made slow, faltering progress. "Is your settlement much farther?" Spock asked, when they stopped to rest.

The girls stared at him and Spock blinked, thinking that he must be slightly concussed, for they seemed to be dissolving before his eyes.

"I'm sorry." She said, "It is difficult for us to hold this form. "We would have changed when we saw the sardur but for your presence." Spock struggled to make sense of what she was saying to him. They continued to vaporise before him, fading to transparency in the shadowy woodland until both, it seemed, had dissolved into nothingness. Or not quite – Spock was aware of their presence though he could no longer see them. He sensed that if he had a tricorder, their presence would not register.

"What are you?" he asked, but he was alone now, both girls having vanshed into the air. Had they been there at all? Spock wondered. The poison from the dart could be a hallucinogen in which case he could not trust his senses. Still, he could not shake the sensation that they were still with him, albeit invisible.

"My name is Spock." He said aloud, finally, his voice unsteady, an intense weariness enveloping him. He felt cold and feared that he might be going into shock. He lay down on the forest floor and slipped slowly into unconsciousness.

Before he opened his eyes, Spock surmised that he was being carried on some kind of stretcher, and that his arms and legs had been bound to its sides. Either this was a precaution against his falling off, or he was being treated as a captive.

Spock hoped that fears for his safety had been the motivation. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up.

"He's awake." A gruff voice remarked, immediately. "Lie still, stranger. Your wounds bleed." There was something about the voice that stirred Spock's' curiosity and he raised his head slightly to see who had spoken. He saw the rear stretcher-bearer looking down at him, a tall, grey-haired man, clearly human. He was smiling down at Spock, but he was not the owner of the gruff voice, Spock was sure. He strained his neck to the side in the direction of the voice, and saw another humanoid figure whose looks and bearing astonished him, for the man whose voice had expressed concern at his condition was a fully-grown, Klingon male.


	4. Chapter 4

Hope somebody somewhere's following this. How about some feedback. Reviews would be greatly appreciated and provide encouragement for me to put up the next chapter.

Chapter Four

Pavel Chekov hesitated outside the captain's quarters. Was the information he had discovered whilst following up a number of leads resulting from a cross-reference check on information relating to the Curie incident, interesting enough to warrant disturbing his commanding officer?

Dr McCoy's instructions had been crystal clear, earlier, when he had contacted Mr Scott on the Bridge. James Kirk was not to be disturbed by anything less pressing than a full red alert. Chekov deliberated, then turned away. The Captain would wake soon, and when he did, the information could be relayed to him immediately.

The Rec room was buzzing with conversation when Pavel walked in a few minutes after leaving Kirk's quarters. Whilst he was hovering by the replicator trying to decide which Russian delicacy to request, he became aware of the sound of voices raised in anger and he turned just in time to see John Visnic and Ben Ryan stand up and confront each other across their table.

The hum of conversation in the Rec room stopped abruptly. Chekov watched in disbelief as Visnic suddenly upended the table, grabbed a knife and waved it threateningly at Ryan. Several onlookers, including Chekov, moved purposefully in Visnic's direction, but before they could intervene to restrain him, Ryan too had picked up a knife and, pushing the upturned table aside, lunged at Visnic, plunging the knife into his throat.

"Call security! And a medic!" Chekov yelled to whoever was listening as he advanced on Ryan who had pulled the bloody knife from Visnic's neck and was sweeping the air in front of him to ward off any attempts at disarming him.

Fortunately, he forgot to watch his back and Pavel saw his chance. He darted behind Ryan and threw himself at him, encircling the larger man's chest from behind in an effort to grab his arm and force him to release the weapon. Before he could do so, Ryan shook him free and, just before another two crewmen had a chance to grab his arms, he spun around and hurled the knife hard at Chekov's chest.

Before he could even register the blow, Pavel's condition was critical. He experienced nothing of the shock that he would have felt if he'd realised that the blade had penetrated his heart. Pain, and the sudden, frightening struggle to breathe alarmed him deeply. In the seconds during which he was still conscious, Chekov looked down in horror to see a widening patch of crimson staining his gold shirt.

Someone had called for medical assistance. McCoy and his team arrived in the Rec room to a scene of carnage. Two crewmen lay on the floor drenched in blood, and, glancing between the two, McCoy was forced to make a speedy assessment of the situation. Visnic was alive; a profusion of blood – probably arterial drenched his red shirt and spattered the floor around him, but a resourceful crewman had pressed something – McCoy was not about to investigate what - against the source of the bleeding to stem the flow and the doctor signalled to Nurse Chapel to take over whilst he knelt beside the rapidly failing ensign.

"It was touch and go, Jim." He explained to the Captain five hours later, after performing life-saving surgery on the young Russian. "The blade pierced his heart and ten minutes was all he had. Fortunately I'd been summoned when Visnic was stabbed and was already on my way. But I've had to induce a coma to keep him stable until we get to Starbase Ten. I can't risk further surgery with our back up power compromised."

Kirk glanced over at the biobed where Pavel Chekov looked at peace after his recent trauma. "And Visnic?" he asked, his eyes still on the young ensign.

"Well, despite the dramatic blood loss, his injury wasn't too serious. I've repaired the damage and pumped him full of fresh blood. He'll make a full recovery. But there was something a little odd about his readings. I'd like to keep him here for a while, run some tests."

"Odd?" Kirk asked, his interest piqued. He had known Leonard McCoy too long to take such a remark as lightly as it had been made. McCoy rubbed his chin and frowned. "It could be something or nothing, Jim. His stress levels are higher than I would expect them to be. He seems unduly anxious about nothing in particular and everything in general. Above all, he's convinced that Ryan has been, 'out to get him' since we returned from Skara."

"I've just come from the Brig. That's pretty much what Ben Ryan said about Visnic." Jim said. McCoy's eyebrows arched and he pursed his lips.

"Maybe I'll check him out too," he said, thoughtfully, looking at Jim, "Are you okay, Jim? No anxiety, irritability?"

"You think this has something to do with the poisoned arrows?"

"I don't know yet, Jim. If it is, it's nothing I've come across before."

"Let me know if you turn anything up," Kirk said, and, with one last look in Chekov's direction, he left sickbay and headed for the Bridge.

Scott had the con but he all but leapt from the command chair as Kirk walked on to the Bridge. After enquiring about Chekov's health and updating Kirk on the ship's position, he asked, tentatively, "Captain. Are you quite rested?" Kirk grinned,

"I'm fine, Scotty. Get back to your engines. That's an order."

"Aye, Captain. I'll do just that. Did Chekov relay his information to you before the ..er..incident? He seemed pretty excited about it."

Kirk looked at Scott, questioningly.

"Something to do with the Curie incident that he'd been researching for you." Scott prompted. Kirk shook his head. As Scotty left the bridge he made his way over to the science station and asked the computer for an update on Chekov's recent findings. The results were unsatisfying. Chekov had been following a number of threads mostly concerned with the Curie's crewmembers. The Curie had been an exploratory vessel concerned primarily with scientific investigation and its crew had numbered only two hundred men and women. It had little means of defending itself against such a formidable aggressor as a Klingon battlecruiser and its complete destruction had gone down in the annals of recent space history as a particularly heinous and unprovoked attack.

Kirk leaned back in his chair and scratched the side of his head, as he did so, touching the spot where the arrow had nicked his skin back on Skara and scraping the scab that had formed over the graze. Blood dripped from his finger when he withdrew it. Feelingly suddenly little light-headed, he shook his head to clear the fug. The bridge reeled briefly and Kirk gripped the side of his chair. Then, just as suddenly, his head cleared.

Jim looked around the bridge furtively, to see if his momentary loss of control had been noticed. Uhura was busy at her station; Sulu was studying his navigation console. No one seemed to have noticed. Still, Kirk felt a sense of paranoia take hold of him and he scanned the bridge again, convinced that someone must have witnessed his moment of weakness, was watching him still.

As he concentrated on sifting through the data that Chekov had unearthed, the feeling of unease intensified into anxiety. Kirk was puzzled. It was a sensation that he was familiar with only when the situation warranted such a response – during a tense moment on the bridge or when a crewman's life had been threatened. To feel anxiety with no traceable cause was alien to him and more than a little disturbing. Embarrassing, even. He thought of McCoy's concerns about the Skarran toxin but dismissed any notion that this might be responsible for his symptoms.

Chekov had been busy. He had pulled up information on everyone who had served on the Curie. Kirk perused the list.

Many had been young scientists embarking on careers in their chosen field. Who knows what they might have achieved had they not perished at the hands of those Klingon monsters? Beads of sweat broke out on Kirk's forehead. His right hand was balled into a tightly clenched fist and his whole body trembled with restrained anger. His eyes swept furtively around the bridge. His colleagues seemed unaware of the intensity of emotion gripping their captain.

Kirk suppressed a grunt of impatience. Was this all that Chekov had come up with? Or had he seen a connection that Kirk was missing?

News that The Curie and all her crew perished reached Starfleet slowly. First the crew had failed to maintain routine communications with Starfleet, then word of mouth accounts began to filter through, rumours that the Klingons had attacked the ship in the neutral zone.

Klingons High Command had denied culpability for the attack, claiming that they had not ordered the destruction of the Curie. When they finally admitted to the unprovoked attack, they claimed to have been acting on intelligence that suggested the Curie was on a clandestine mission to destabilise Klingon interests on one of their colonies. It was a mess. Kirk sighed. How could the Klingons expect Starfleet to believe that the Curie was a threat to them? It was clearly a lie hastily manufactured to cover an overtly hostile act.

"Doctor McCoy to bridge."

"What is it, McCoy?" Kirk tried to mask the irritation in his voice. It irritated him all the more that his attempt would not fool his astute CMO.

"I've run those tests on Visnic and Ryan. As you and I were members of the same landing party, I think it wise to include us. Can you come along to sickbay?"

"I don't have time for your damned…tests, doctor. I have a ship to run." The words were out before Kirk had a chance to stop them. He didn't need to look up to know that heads were turning in his direction. A trickle of blood warmed his scalp and he wiped it away, smearing the blood on his sleeve.

"Captain, is everything alright?" Uhura's voice, concerned.

"Everything's fine, Lieutenant." His voice calm again but the effort of control was exhausting. He even managed to flash her a reassuring smile but he knew that just like McCoy, his communications officer could read him like a book. Kirk felt a pressing need to leave the bridge. "Mr Sulu…take the conn." He said, already making for the turbolift.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Spock raised his hand and grasped the wrist of the Klingon youth before he could strike him again. "Thank you." He said, without a hint of sarcasm. The boy nodded and bowed.

"It is true then, what my father told me about Vulcans requiring assistance to rouse from a healing trance."

"Your action was timely." Spock agreed.

"I have never met a Vulcan."

Spock attempted to rise, felt the restraints binding his arms and feet, tensed his muscles against them. The Klingon pushed him down gently. "You are not healed."

Spock raised an eyebrow but he could not disagree. "How long?" He asked.

"Two days. We treated your wounds and hoped that what we had heard about the Vulcan ability to self-heal was true."

"The process of recovery is accelerated." Spock explained, "However, as you rightly pointed out, I am not yet completely healed." Strange, his feeling of unease was still with him but the Klingon's words and manner were not threatening.

"My name is T'Sorf." The Klingon informed him somewhat hesitantly. "Forgive the bindings. We did not know if you were friend or foe."

"I understand." Spock said, "My name is Spock. I am a Starfleet Officer."

T'Sorf's eyes widened in surprise.

"Please excuse me. I will consult with Mark and my father concerning your restraints. I am confident that they will be removed."

The Klingon boy bowed again and left Spock alone to take in his surroundings. As far as he could tell he was in a tent of sorts, put together using branches and animal skins in the manner of the tepee common to many worlds and cultures. The remains of a fire, smouldered at its centre and Spock was lying on a bed of leaves and twigs and covered with animal furs, one of which he identified from its markings as belonging to the rabbit-eared big cat family. Spock appreciated the irony. His phaser was missing, he noted, unsurprised.

The healing trance had improved his condition but he was still weak from blood loss and the wounds from the animal trap and the fight with the sardur still throbbed painfully. Even at full strength he doubted whether he could free himself from the restraints binding his arms and legs.

As it happened, Spock did not have to wait for long. He heard T'Sorf's voice first, followed by that of another, older man. Even with his acute Vulcan hearing, Spock was unable to make out more than a word here and there.

"Spock of Vulcan. Are you awake?" T'Sorf's voice, quiet.

"I am." Spock replied turning to look at the Klingon boy and his companions. The Klingon male who had borne Spock on the stretcher stood by T'Sorf's side, his father, presumably. Another man, human, tall and with greying hair stood by the doorway, eyeing Spock with suspicion.

"A Starfleeet officer. We are honoured." His tone was not mocking. My name is Mark Hunter."

Spock nodded, "I am familiar with your work on warp field theories.

Hunter nodded in acknowledgment of Spock's recognition. He turned to the Klingon by T'Sorf's side. "Allow me to introduce my great friend, Kort. T'Sorf's father." Spock inclined his head slightly which was mirrored by a bow from Kort.

"We will untie your restraints and if you feel well enough we will talk."

"Indeed." Spock agreed. At a nod from Hunter, T'Sorf approached Spock's bedside, and, drawing a knife from a belt around his waist, began cutting the ties, all the while staring at the Vulcan in silent fascination."

"You must forgive my son's rudeness. He has never seen a Vulcan." Kort remarked. Spock rubbed his wrists and looked at the boy. He supposed that in a situation like this, Jim would smile warmly and charm everyone in the room with an appropriate response but he had no such resources at his disposal. He merely acknowledged the boy's interest with a slight nod and a visibly arched right eyebrow. T'Sorf steadied him when he swayed on rising and Spock caught a sense of the Klingon boy's concern; his mental shields were not wholly intact A touch telepath from birth, Spock found it uncomfortable, even distressing to be around other sentient beings with his mental guards compromised. This was particularly so when he was in the company of those who had no telepathic ability and did not shield their own thoughts and feelings.

Still, it was reassuring to sense T'Sorf's concern. Spock had coped with the deleterious effects of the mindsifter in the way that any Vulcan would, by employing the mental disciplines accessible to him from years of instruction and practice, but the experience had scarred him in ways that he would not readily acknowledge, even to those closest to him.

As a Vulcan he bore no enmity towards other beings – to do so was illogical - but Organia had tested Spock's beliefs to the core and the sight of a Klingon still reminded him not just of his ordeal but of the months of inner turmoil that he had suffered as he sought to reconcile his beliefs with that of a race whose sole raison d'etre seemed to be to wreak evil and havoc on the galaxy. And yet, Spock sensed, that standing beside him now, were two members of that very race, ready to catch him should he fall.

"Are you up to this?" Hunter asked, and Spock nodded in reply. Hunter was a tall man, over six feet in height and broadly built, his hair, not wholly grey at all, but streaked with silver at the front and his face beginning to show the faint lines associated with middle age. He had about him a kind of serenity and an unmistakeable air of self-assurance. What would James Kirk make of him, Spock wondered, quickly dismissing any thoughts of his captain along with the anxiety that gnawed at him whenever he thought of Jim.

Hunter led them outside where the air was chillier than was comfortable for Spock, but Kort began coaxing a neglected fire back to life and T'Sorf handed Spock a fur to wrap around his shoulders.

Spock drank cool water from a flask remembering his last long drink from the stream two nights ago. The memory brought another in tow - the sight of the Klingon shuttle plummeting from the sky on collision course with the distant hills.

"I have reason to believe that some others have landed recently on Skara." He said. Hunter's face was inscrutable but his voice betrayed a sense of urgency, "What others?"

"Two nights ago I saw a Klingon shuttle hurtling from the sky in the direction of the hills north east of here. Strange, we detected no signs of a Klingon ship on our instruments – it must have been out of range on the far side of the planet." Had the Enterprise been made rudely aware of the Klingon ship, and, if so, how had she fared against it, Spock wondered.

Hunter, and Kort exchanged glances. Kort spoke first. "There is something that you should understand, Mr Spock. I am not your enemy, but I am aware that my people are not all of my persuasion." He paused, looking to Hunter, "Mark and I are friends – more than that – we are brothers. I do not ask you to understand, only to accept this fact. Furthermore, it is my belief that one day my people and yours will be as one. Our differences are not so great a divisive force as our current prejudices would attest."

Spock listened with keen interest, all the while thinking of the Organians and their gentle leader's prediction that one day the Federation and the Klingon Empire would be at peace. In answer to Kort's pronouncement, he said, "That may be so but, these Klingons, should they have survived, may pose a threat to you. Do you have the means to defend yourselves?"

"This planet's native population is primitive and aggressive - our tactic has been to stay out of their way. Still, we have had to arm ourselves. " Hunter said. "With our scientific knowledge and the planet's natural resources, plus what we salvaged from the shuttle, we've been able to assemble a number of crude devices that could be used as weapons in an emergency."

Spock nodded. "It might be prudent to gather these together." Hunter nodded. "Tell us how you came to be here. What ship are you from?"

"I am First Officer and Science Officer aboard the Federation Starship USS Enterprise." Hunter whistled softly.

"The Enterprise. Is she still under the command of Captain Christopher Pike?" He asked.

"You knew Chrisopher Pike?" Spock asked, with interest.

"Knew of him." Hunter answered. "A distinguished captain and a good man as I have heard."

"Indeed." Taking a moment to explain Pike's fate. "My captain is James T Kirk."

"Never heard of him." Hunter said, dismissively, "Some upstart straight out of the Academy, no doubt." Those who knew him well, would have discerned a faint trace of amusement in Spock's eyes, but his face remained impassive as he replied, "Captain Kirk is on record as the youngest graduate to have assumed command of a federation starship."

"Like I said," Hunter said, "An upstart."

Spock explained about the distress signal and the ion storm. "I must assume that the Enterprise is no longer in the vicinity."

Kort had been listening, grim faced. "You have no way of knowing whether the Klingon ship engaged the Enterprise in battle?"

"Unknown. When the landing party beamed down there was no sign of it. I can only assume that it was on the other side of Skara, beyond the range of our sensors." T'Sorf, in his eagerness, voiced what the others were thinking. "If there were a battle, who would have won?" No one answered him.

"A Federation starship and a Klingon battlecruiser turning up at once. Coincidence?" Hunter said looking at Kort. The two men held each other's gaze for a moment in a way that seemed strangely familiar to Spock though he could not place why. He found the easy familiarity between the Klingon and the human strangely dislocating, as though things were not as they should be and for some reason, he felt unsettled.

"May I ask how many escaped from the ill-fated Curie?" Spock asked. He saw immediately that he had surprised them.

"What do you mean, ill-fated? Did something happen to the Curie?" Hunter asked.

"You did not know?" Spock said, surprised, "The Curie was destroyed by a Klingon ship. There were no known survivors – until now."

Hunter's face paled. He cleared his throat.

"Mr Spock, when we left the Curie, she was all in one piece." Spock nodded, "May I enquire whether the Curie's captain was aware of your departure?"

"Tell him, Mark." Kort said. "I suspect he is formulating his own hypothesis as to how two Klingons came to be aboard a Federation spaceship."

"I smuggled Kort and T'Sorf aboard, hid them in my cabin. I was travelling as a civilian scientist bound for the Hadean system." Spock raised an eyebrow and inclined his head.

"You hijacked a federation shuttlecraft?" He prompted.

"Hijacked is not the term I would have chosen, but it is technically correct, I suppose." Hunter admitted.

"I would be interested in learning how you managed to launch a shuttlecraft without attracting attention."

"Smoke and mirrors, Mr Spock. In the light of what you have just revealed, our escape from the Curie must now appear suspicious, but I assure you that Kort and I had nothing to do with the attack on the Curie."

As a Vulcan, Spock expected people to tell the truth, but he was well aware that even some Vulcans were proficient liars. He had no way of knowing if Hunter were telling the truth. The evidence, and his apparent friendship with Kort, a Klingon, seemed to suggest otherwise, yet something about this man engendered trust; something about him reminded him of another man in whom Spock willingly put his trust.

"May I ask why the Klingon ship attacked a vessel on a peaceful mission that was well within neutral space?" Kort asked.

"The order came from Klingon High Command. That is all I know." Spock answered, "However, Klingon High Command maintain that they were acting on intelligence that suggested the Curie was a threat to Klingon interests in the sector." Kort leaned forward, obviously intrigued. Spock hesitated before continuing as if reluctant to reveal the rest; "The Klingons were unable to corroborate the source of that intelligence. They even hinted that a Starfleet officer was involved."

Hunter whistled. Spock raised an eyebrow, "In all such incidents, conspiracy theories abound." He said, "Humans and Klingons alike are want to indulge in idle speculation to fill the vacuum created by an absence of facts."

"Still, they may have some basis in the truth. Here's a theory for you, Mr Spock. What would you say if I suggested that the Curie were destroyed to ensure that one man aboard was killed in a way that would not invite suspicion?"

"I would say that there must be easier ways to bring about a single death." Spock paused, "I would also like to know the man's identity."

"You're looking at him." Hunter said. Behind his Vulcan mask, Spock was puzzled. He was also tired and irritable. If Hunter had something to say, why did he not just say it instead of prevaricating – surely he must be aware that Vulcans were interested in the tale, not in the telling?

"You must be wondering, Mr Spock, how it is that a human and a Klingon came to be friends." Kort said, seeming to change the subject. "We met on Ravik V."

"You were on Ravik V?" Spock asked looking from Hunter to Kort. If the Curie incident had gone down in history as a brutal and senseless attack, it did not compare to what happened on Ravik V. In terms of scale at any rate.

Kort and Hunter seemed to nod in synch. Ravik was a world lying on the very edge of explored space. It had been made up of two continents and had been home to a sizeable community of a million or more colonists from all over the galaxy. It had also been the location of an intergalactic space station, a centre of scientific excellence that had attracted the great scientific minds of the galaxy to work and study.

"I was a scientist on Klingon, but I was also a rebel – such men and women do exist amongst Klingons, Mr Spock. We see a different future for our people. I wanted to pursue science for its own sake, not for the glory of the Klingon Empire. I came to Ravik to do research and ended up working on a project with Mark."

T'Sorf came over and sat by his father, listening. He had no doubt heard the story many times before.

"We were not great friends to begin with." Hunter said, "I did not trust Kort. My prejudices about the Klingon race were deeply entrenched, but I did respect him as a scientist. However, I was intrigued to learn that T'Sorf's mother was human and it was Marianne who built the bridge that led to our friendship. Later, our experiences on Ravik strengthened our bond – we became like brothers." At this, Spock raised an eyebrow. It had not occurred to him that Kort's son was a hybrid. Now he understood why T'Sorf had come and sat by his father – Spock sensed that Marianne had not survived the attack on Ravik.

"Do you know how many people died in the first strike on Ravik, Mr Spock?"

"Approximately four hundred and fifty thousand A further five hundred thousand in the second strike on Ravik's more populous northern continent . In each strike nearly one quarter of the planet was quite literally ripped away. Thousands more perished in the series of climatic and other disasters that followed the attack. It has been estimated that out of one million inhabitants, fewer than ten thousand survived long enough to be evacuated to safety."

"You have a good head for statistics, Mr Spock." Hunter commented. "I wonder if you are as good at imagining what conditions must have been like on Ravik in the aftermath of the attacks?" Spock's face remained expressionless.

"Imagine if you can pitch blackness filled with noise and chaos and terror. Imagine knowing that the very world you inhabit is breaking apart around you and on a massive scale. Witnessing the death of thousands…" Hunter's voice was unsteady. He cleared his throat. "Kort and I were out riding in the hills when the science station was targeted. I was thrown from my horse and rolled down a ravine. Kort risked his life to rescue me."

"And Mark risked his life to help rescue T'Sorf – we dug him out of the rubble of the station. We found Marianne close by but she was already dead." Hunter glanced at T'Sorf who was obviously struggling with his emotions.

Kort spoke unashamedly and honestly. Hunter looked at him when he stopped talking, and Spock, tired and still partially unshielded, felt the intensity of the emotion that passed between them with all the impact of a physical blow. He doubled over. "Mr Spock!" T'Sorf was beside him in an instant. Spock managed to bring himself under control. "Please do not concern yourselves…" He began, his voice faltering.

"Perhaps we overestimated the extent of your recovery." Hunter said. "You must rest."

Spock nodded, wearily. Before rising he asked, "Where are Mara and Reena?" and received vacant looks from his companions. "The children who discovered me in the forest. They went to bring me help, I think." Kort and Hunter looked puzzled, "There are no children here. T'Sorf came upon you whilst we were hunting, Mr Spock. You were unconscious."

"The sardur that attacked me?"

"Sardur? You mean the wild cat that attacked you? It was lying dead by your side. You had killed it, Mr Spock." It was Spock's turn to look puzzled. Had it been a hallucination? Was whatever was in his bloodstream affecting his very perception of reality.

Back in the quietness of the tent, he lay awake, trying to soothe his troubled thoughts by meditating. It had disturbed him to see Kort and Hunter together, to sense the strength of their bond.

He had understood perfectly what Kort had meant when he said that he and Hunter were more than friends, for his own friendship with James Kirk had long ago strengthened into something more akin to brotherhood; the Vulcans had a name for it; Th'yla, a word invested with subtle layers of meaning. After Deneva, he had wanted to tell Jim that in this sense he still had a brother, but he knew that his friend needed to grieve. Spock wrapped the sardur's warm skin around him, feeling a sudden chill. The last sound he heard before succumbing to an exhausted sleep was Kort and Hunter's laughter dissolving in the Skarran night air.

Spock woke to the sound of T'Sorf's voice again, but this time the boy had no need to strike him. "Are you feeling better, Mr Spock?" he asked. Spock nodded, observing T'Sorf with curiosity. There seemed nothing of the human about him, just as there was nothing in Spock's own outward appearance to suggest that he was anything other than Vulcan. "I too am a hybrid." Spock said, "My mother is human. T'Sorf smiled, "Then we are alike, you and I. Except, I have never been to my father's world. You grew up on Vulcan?"

"Yes, but I visited Earth from time to time."

"Are you more Vulcan or more human, Mr Spock? Which do you prefer? Earth or Vulcan?"

"It is not a matter of preference. I was raised as a Vulcan."

" And yet you live amongst humans. I went to Earth once. I did not like the way people looked at me there. I look like a Klingon. Perhaps on Klingon I could gain acceptance, but if what my father says about his people is true, I am not sure that I could accept them. That is strange is it not, to be a product of two worlds yet belong to neither?" Spock looked at the boy feeling a stab of recognition. He had no words of comfort to offer.

"At least your parents' people are not at war with each other, at least they don't hate each other. My father says that one day Klingons, humans, Vulcans, we will all be the same, and I believe him. All we need are more bridge builders, like my mother."

Spock nodded soberly, thinking that the young Klingon was wise beyond his years, but also naive.

"I came to ask you to join us for supper, that is, if you are feeling well enough. I have gathered some berries and fruit for you. Mark says that Vulcans find animal flesh distasteful."

"Thank you." Spock answered, "I will join you." T'Sorf grinned. Spock watched him as he left the tent, seeing now that he had been mistaken before in assuming that there was nothing human about the boy. There was much about him that reminded the Vulcan why he had chosen to live amongst Humans.

Kort and Hunter welcomed him when he stepped outside the tent. He accepted their hospitality and listened to their cheerful conversation. There was no further mention, Spock noted, of the Curie, or of Hunter's claim that he was the reason for its destruction. It would be necessary, and soon, to hear Hunter's story but for the time being, Spock was prepared to wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"I'm sorry, Captain, I've been workin' day and night to keep us operatin' at warp capacity. If I push these engines much more we'll wind up as helpless as a tall ship chasin' a wind." Montgomery Scott had chosen his simile carefully, hoping it might calm the enraged man pacing his engineering deck. He had seen the captain angry many times, but never like this, never irrational.

"Not good enough, Lieutenant. Call yourself an engineer? Look at this ship – it's a rustbucket. Your precious engines are suffering from your neglect. I ask you for warp four and all you keep telling me is you can't do anything until we get to Starbase Five."

"Captain Kirk!" exclaimed Scotty more hurt than indignant "The Enterprise is not a rustbucket."

The angry, pacing captain came to a halt well inside his Chief Engineer's personal space, his face inches from Scotty's. A small crowd of bemused, redshirted engineering personnel had assembled around the two senior officers. Kirk registered them as a threatening red blur in his peripheral vision and he reeled, adopting a fighting stance.

"Easy now, laddie. We don't want anyone gettin' hurt." For a split second, Scotty believed that the enraged captain was actually going to strike him; then, abruptly Kirk retracted. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt smoothed it down with his hands, then turned on his heel and made for the door. The atmosphere he left in his wake was tense in the extreme.

Montgomery Scott turned to his crew and shrugged, hoping to downplay the incident but there was no denying that everyone present in engineering had witnessed a disturbing scene, one that could undermine their confidence in their commanding officer. Scotty waited until they had all returned to their posts before he made his excuses and headed off in the direction of sickbay.

"I'm tellin' ye, the captain's not himself. He's behavin' like a man possessed."

Scotty's lack of subtlety did not bother the doctor. He was only voicing what many had been thinking. Nor was this the first account of Captain Kirk's increasingly bizarre behaviour that had come to the medic's ears. It was, however, the first account that was more than rumour.

"The captain's had a lot on his mind, Scotty."

"Aye, that he has. But he's not the only one worried about Mr Spock, when all's said and done." McCoy said nothing. He knew that Scotty knew that for Jim it was different when it came to worrying about Spock.

Still, McCoy was concerned. Jim was not himself, and worry about his first officer was not the only reason; whatever personal issues he had to deal with, the captain never let them affect his ability to run the ship.

"Is it something medical?" The Scotsman asked, lowering his voice.

"Jim's been acting out of character since shortly after we beamed back from Skara. In fact, out of everyone who beamed down, yours truly here is the only one who has not been displaying symptoms of paranoia and aggressive behaviour. At least I think I'm exempt. I may be delusional."

"I've heard no complaints about you, doctor McCoy." Scott reassured the medic. "Have ye approached the captain at all?"

"He's been avoiding me. The truth is, Scotty, I don't know what I'm dealing with here. Ryan and Visnic are both doing okay after their psychotic episodes, but they're still far from mentally stable. There are a few anomalies in their readings, but their test results were normal. I'm keeping them under observation and running more tests because I don't feel all this is coincidental."

"And the Captain?"

McCoy understood what Scott, as acting second in command of the Enterprise was asking him, but he was not ready to have _that _conversation yet.

"Give me a little more time, Scotty." He said, unable for the moment to meet the Chief Engineer's eye.

"Aye. Let's hope that's all that's needed." Scott said, leaving McCoy to ruminate.

James Kirk did not wish to be seen. Once, his First Officer had wished the same. He had pleaded with Kirk to lock him away, save him from himself. If he had been less than sympathetic then, Jim now perfectly understood how shame could fuel such an extreme reaction.

Half an hour ago on the bridge, the mounting anxiety and fear that he had been experiencing over the past couple of days, had escalated into full-blown paranoia. He had become convinced that his helmsman was about to attack him and had put the unfortunate Sulu in a stranglehold. Uhura had called security and it had taken two men to pull him off and escort him to his quarters on the orders of his Chief Medical Officer whose timely appearance on the bridge was also down to Uhura.

Any minute now, McCoy, who had no doubt been seeing to Sulu, would be standing at the door of his quarters, demanding to be admitted. Kirk could not refuse him, was not sure he wanted to, despite the crazy little voice in his head telling him the CMO had a hypo loaded with something lethal that he just couldn't wait to inject into his captain's veins. Somewhere still there was a rational Kirk who saw this for the preposterous nonsense that it was, but the crazy voice didn't like being ignored.

"Enter." Kirk called, dully, on hearing the inevitable request. McCoy was not alone. A red-shirted security guard accompanied him.

"What's this, Bones? You don't trust me?"

"Normally I'd trust you with my life, Jim, you know that. Only right at this moment, you're not quite yourself." McCoy observed his friend closely. He noticed Kirk's agitation, his defensiveness, the suspicious look he was giving the loaded hypo in his CMO's steady hand. "It's an anti-psychotic, Jim. You're displaying the same symptoms that Ryan and Visnic displayed before they tried to kill each other."

"I'm not crazy." Kirk said, backing off.

"No-one's saying you are, but I'll wager you're aware that your actions in the past couple of days have been a tad out of character. You're sane enough to know that something's wrong. Proof, in fact, that what you say is true – you're not crazy" Leonard McCoy gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Kirk seemed to relax.

"I don't need that." He said, pointing at the hypo. McCoy deliberated, weighing up concerns about his own safety with his loyalty to his friend. Finally he asked the security guard to step outside.

"Jim…" he began.

"I know, Bones. You want to relieve me of my command due to my current mental…instability." To McCoy's intense relief, Jim spoke calmly and without acrimony. No trace now of the symptoms he had been hearing about from Scotty and other crewmembers. No hint that this was the same man who, only a short while ago had attempted to throttle his helmsman.

"I'm sorry, Jim. This part of my job is never easy." Kirk flashed McCoy one of his disarming, lop-sided smiles and made as if to pat him on the shoulder, then stopped himself and walked over to his bunk.

"Why not you?" He asked, quietly, looking at McCoy enquiringly.

"I can't answer that, yet. I don't even know if I'll remain unaffected. Hell, I don't even know if you've been exposed to some kind of toxin or affected in some way in the beam up by the affects of the ion storm. All the tests keep coming back negative."

"Well…you haven't tested me yet."

"I have tried. You've been less than co-operative, remember? You should have come to me, Jim. Your symptoms are inexplicable at present but they aren't untreatable." Kirk looked up, sharply,

"You mean..?" McCoy nodded,

"I mean that contrary to what your paranoid mind is assuming, I haven't come to relieve you of your command on medical grounds." McCoy watched the relief melt over his captain's face.

"There is a 'but'." He cautioned Jm.

"I submit to your tests and take my medication?" The doctor nodded.

"And, you come to me if you feel you're not in control. And Jim, if your mental condition deteriorates, I will have no choice but to relieve you."

Kirk nodded, holding out his arm for the hypo. "Bones, Spock took one of those darts – he was bleeding."

"I know, Jim,"

"Something in his Vulcan make-up may make him more susceptible to…whatever this is we're dealing with."

McCoy looked unhappy but he said, "We don't know that, Jim. He may be completely immune."

At that moment, Kirk's intercom beeped with a message for McCoy from sickbay. It was Nurse Chapel's voice, clearly panicked. Visnic had somehow broken free of his restraints and had overpowered his guard. Worse, he was armed with the guard's phaser and had already stunned two of the medical staff.

Kirk sounded a security alert ordering John Visnic's capture then alerted the crew to the fact that Visnic was likely to be in an irrational state of mind and highly dangerous. McCoy worried momentarily that the crew would be concerned about their Captain's state of mind, and hoped that news of his attack on Sulu had not travelled beyond the Bridge. As he and Kirk exited the captain's quarters, the doctor signalled to the security guard outside that Kirk was no longer a risk.

"Jim, let security deal with this." McCoy urged as Kirk entered the turbolift and requested deck five. Jim threw him a look that the ship's surgeon knew of old – it acknowledged McCoy's need to say the words, whilst simultaneously telling him not to waste his breath.

The scene in sickbay was one of chaos. Evidently Visnic's altercation with the security guard had been violent. Equipment and furniture lay strewn across the floor and Chapel was doing her best to administer first aid to the three injured personnel. McCoy took charge immediately. Kirk hovered near the security guard trying to determine whether the man were well enough to be questioned.

"Where was he headed?" he asked, urgently, ignoring the CMO's glare.

Wincing in pain, the guard told Kirk that he thought he had heard Visnic mutter something about the bridge.

Kirk put a call through to his Security Chief, Lieutenant commander Giotto, before running for the door.

Visnic beat them to it; beat the warning Kirk put out to his bridge crew as soon as he finished speaking to Giotto. By the time the captain and the security back up arrived on the scene, Visnic had grabbed the unfortunate Sulu and was holding him hostage, demanding that he change course.

At the captain's entrance, Sulu looked from Kirk to Visnic, obviously alarmed. Kirk understood; only an hour ago he had attempted to strangle the Helmsman, now for all Sulu knew,there were two madmen closing in on him. Kirk hoped that Giotto's presence would reassure Sulu.

"Visnic!" The captain's authoritative tone forced Visnic's attention. The deranged man had Sulu by the arm, a phaser levelled at his throat. To his credit, the helmsman exhibited no sign of panic.

"Visnic, let him go and we can talk. You're sick. You, Ryan and I – we've all been infected with something on Skara…it's affecting our minds, making us paranoid, irrational. Dr McCoy can help. He's already given me something to control the symptoms. Ask Sulu. Less than an hour ago I tried to strangle him."

Kirk looked encouragingly at his helmsman. Sulu put a hand to his throat and when he spoke his voice sounded hoarse, causing Kirk a pang of guilt.

"It's true, John. The Captain attacked me. He thought I was going to kill him. Look at him now – he's back in control."

Visnic's grip tightened around Sulu's throat; he had a wild-eyed look that suggested he'd crossed a line and wasn't coming back. Kirk took a step towards him and Visnic dragged the helmsman in front of him as a shield.

Out of nowhere a high-pitched, pain-inducing noise assaulted their ears. Hands instinctively covered ears. Kirk, recovering first, moved panther-like across the bridge in a single leap at Visnic, knocking the phaser from his hand, pulling him to the ground. They wrestled together while Giotto hovered looking for a chance to stun Visnic.

In the ensuing tussle, Visnic's dropped phaser was forgotten, until, breaking free of Kirk's hold, Visnic made a dive for it and turned it on himself.

"No!" Kirk yelled, watching in horror as the stricken-faced crewman exploded in a blaze of yellow light. There was complete silence on the bridge.

"It's my fault." Uhura said, finally breaking the silence. I jammed the comm system to create a diversionary noise…I never meant…I didn't think.."

"Uhura." Kirk roused himself from his stunned paralysis and crossed to her side. "It wasn't your fault. Your action probably saved Sulu's life. Visnic was killed by…whatever he brought back with him from that planet."

Uhura recovered herself enough to give the captain a grateful nod.

"The phaser was set to kill." Sulu said, incredulous, his voice unsteady.

"Mr Sulu, you are relieved of duty." The captain advised him.

"There's no need sir; I'm fine." Sulu answered.

"That's an order, Sulu. You've had two attempts on your life in as many hours. Mr Giotto, see that he makes it safely to his quarters."

"How's Ryan?" Kirk asked when he reported to sickbay later. McCoy wished he could lie. "He took it badly. Visnic was a friend. They graduated from the academy together." At his words, Kirk winced as though with pain. The death of a crewmember, was, McCoy knew, a source of anguish for Jim who felt each loss as a personal failure.

"Come on, Jim." The doctor said, gently, leading Kirk towards the CMO's office.

"What about the tests?"

"The tests can wait until after you've taken your medicine." McCoy answered, taking a bottle of Saurian brandy from his desk drawer and pouring two generous glasses. Handing one to Kirk, he said, "To John Visnic. May he rest in peace."

A solemn silence ensued, both men reflecting on recent events. Finally, Kirk looked at his friend and asked, "How long until I go crazy and pull a stunt like that?"

"Jim, you know I don't have enough information to make that sort of prediction. All I can say is that the anti-psychotic should mask the symptoms for now until I can find an antidote."

"Did Visnic have a shot?"

"No. I trialled it on you. If only I'd.."

"Don't go there, Bones. It wasn't your fault. Just – get that antidote."

"I'm trying, Jim. The toxin isn't anything like what we encountered on Psi 2000. I've already ruled out a whole host of potential environmental causes."

McCoy was referring to a time early in their mission, when the mental faculties of certain crewmembers had been affected by water from the planet Psi 2000 reacting in their bloodstreams and producing an effect not dissimilar to alcoholic intoxication.

"Trust you to escape whatever it is." Kirk said, huffily. McCoy swirled the remains of his brandy around in his glass before finishing it off with a satisfied grunt.

"What can I say? We Georgians are made of stern stuff. Now, how about we run those tests?"

Five days of cruising at warp one brought the Enterprise steadily closer to her destination at Starbase Five. Kirk's symptoms of anxiety and paranoia were being held at bay by McCoy's medication but the captain wished the good doctor could invent a cure for impatience. And the sheer tedium of daily routine when there was a pressing need to act.

Kirk spent hours reviewing the records that Chekov had been scanning through, his frustration growing. Why had Klingon High Command denied responsibility, then changed their story? Why bother to deny it in the first place when they knew what analysis of the weckage would reveal? Kirk's suspicions about what had really happened to the Curie intensified, but there was no information to lead him to any sort of hypothesis.

Inevitably, because the Curie's shuttle had ended up there, and because Skara itself was uppermost in his thoughts, the two became interlinked in his mind. And once they became connected, it became difficult to view the presence of the Klingon battlecruiser at Skara as mere coincidence.

Kirk noted with interest that Admiral Caton had signed off on the investigation into the Curie incident, after assigning liability to the Klingons. Others had demanded a fuller investigation, but Caton had had the final say. The name was familiar and he soon remembered why – Ben Caton had been first on the scene at Ravik, a planet where a Federation science sation had been based; the planet had been all but obliterated in an attack by an unknown aggressor, years earlier.

Caton had retired from active service a couple of years ago, itself something of a mystery. Kirk brooded and researched and kept hitting dead ends. On a hunch, he made a mental note to find out what he could about Ben Caton when the Enterprise finally limped into dry dock at Starbase Five.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm having trouble separating my paragraphs when I want to leave a double space to show a shift in time, POV, etc. Can anyone offer advice on this – is it best to separate with stars or some other symbol? The extra spaces I leave don't show up on here.

Chapter Seven

"Mr Spock!" T'Sorf's voice, urgent. Spock looked up from the animal trap that he had been inspecting and saw the boy running towards him. T'Sorf came to a breathless halt near the Vulcan."Oh! I am sorry!" He exclaimed, "I thought you wouldn't see the trap."

Spock looked at his foot, which was still a source of considerable pain, "I think it unlikely that I will miss any such devices in future. There is a human expression 'once bitten, twice shy.' Are you familiar with it?

"My mother used it often."

"Is that creature edible?" Spock asked pointing to the large, bloodied, rabbit-like creature caught in the trap. Seeing it, T'Sorf's eyes lit up.

"We call it a rabbit. Mark says it looks enough like an earth rabbit to be worthy of the name. According to him the flesh is tenderer. We will eat well tonight." T'Sorf was immediately apologetic, "That is, the rest of us will enjoy the rabbit – you of course, will eat well too – only differently."

"You have not offended me, T'Sorf. There is no need to apologise." Spock watched as the boy deftly removed the animal from the trap and reset the device.

"Who is Jim?" T'Sorf asked him, shyly. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?"

"Last night you called his name in your sleep." Spock stood up, focusing his gaze somewhere to the left of the boy's face, "Jim Kirk is my Captain," Spock paused, "and my friend."

"I barely know what it is to have or be a friend, said T'Sorf, a note of regret in his voice. "There were a few other children at the space station on Ravik, but they were younger than me." The boy was lonely, Spock realised.

"If your friend – Jim – comes for you, we too will be able to leave this world; perhaps I will be able to meet people, make friends." Spock was silent, wondering what world T'Sorf would fit into. He looked like a Klingon but he did not behave like one. Where would he gain acceptance? Spock understood what it was like to be caught between two worlds. The boy might find that being amongst his father's people – or his mother's, would only compound his feelings of isolation. This, however, was not what the eager, fresh-faced young man standing before him needed to hear, Spock appreciated. Unfortunately, he could summon no words of reassurance for T'Sorf.

"If there were survivors from the Klingon craft, perhaps they will be rescued too?"

"What has your father told you about the Klingons?" Spock asked.

"That they are a noble, warlike race greatly devoted to honour…but they are also aggressive and predatory, given to seizing what they want with no regard for the cost in terms of other lives." Spock nodded, one eyebrow raised. Had he expected such honestly from Kort?

"It will not always be so." T'Sorf said, quietly. "My father and Mark, they are proof that Klingons and humans can live together peaceably."

"May we both live long enough to see you proved correct in your optimism." Spock said.

The Klingon craft had been at the back of Spock's mind since he had awakened at first light. Not wishing to disturb his hosts with his restless wakefulness, he had slipped quietly outside and walked in the forest willing the strength to return to his aching body, but not really feeling it. Nor had the stillness and quietness of the early morning brought him inner calm.

That a Klingon ship been lurking on the other side of Skara, out of range of the Enterprise's sensors, seemed the only logical explanation for the shuttle's presence here. Less logical was Spock's present response to that knowledge – his sense of irritation and anxiety whenever he contemplated the potential danger that the Enterprise had faced.

He knew that Jim would not hold him responsible for failing to detect a vessel that was undetectable; yet, he could not rid himself of the shame he felt at letting his Captain down. Any attempt at counterbalancing this 'feeling' with logic led him each time to the illogical conclusion that the blame was his alone.

As a Vulcan, Spock relied on logic to interpret the mysteries of the Universe. As a half -human Vulcan, living mostly amongst humans, he also relied on it to anchor him against the vagaries of human behaviour and emotion –which explained why, at times, he was at his most coolly logical in the presence of that most emotionally unrestrained of all humans of his acquaintance – Dr Leonard McCoy. If, on this world, he could not trust in logic – or more precisely, if he could not trust himself to think logically – how was he to function – as a Vulcan or otherwise?

"Are you well, Mr Spock?" T'Sorf's voice, concerned. Spock realised that he was trembling. Placing one hand over the other to steady himself, he answered,

"Quite well, T'Sorf."

"Will you take breakfast with us?"

"I would prefer to walk for a while." Spock answered.

"Look out for traps." T'Sorf warned as he ran off holding the still bleeding rabbit.

"We must find out if there are survivors." Mark Hunter's voice, calm, determined.

"Mr Spock, your phaser is inoperative, is it not?" Kort asked. Spock's phaser had been returned to him and he had taken it apart and reassembled it.

"I believe I have repaired the damage, which was minimal and temporary – an effect produced by ion radiation during the beam-up. If you will permit…" Spock aimed his phaser, at some stones and looked around for permission to fire. A burst of energy and the stones glowed red hot. T'Sorf cried out in admiration.

"The Klingons will be armed with disruptors." Kort cautioned.

"We must consider whether to seek out any survivors or wait until they find us." Said Hunter. "A single phaser would be scant protection if we were taken unawares."

"Mr Spock, what is your opinion? Should we seek them out?" T'Sorf asked the Vulcan, eagerly. Spock did not hesitate.

"I see no alternative but to locate the craft and ascertain the whereabouts of any survivors. Were they to locate us first, no quarter would be given." Spock did not avoid Kort's gaze as he spoke. As far as he could tell, the Klingon was not offended, but reading people was not the Vulcan's area of expertise.

"We will set out tomorrow. Mr Spock, I would ask you to accompany us, but your injuries…"

"…are not an impediment. I will accompany you." Spock asserted.

"Very well," replied Hunter.

"Kravok!" The tall Klingon kneeling by the waterfall looked up at the sound of his name. The movement caused him to wince; he had been lucky – his injuriewere slight – but his neck and shoulder burned with pain that the coldness of running water numbed but could not eliminate.

It was Varon calling him, his voice hoarse, strained. Kravok filled his flask with water and offered it to Varon who slammed it with his fist, spilling the contents on the ground. For the third time that morning he urged Kravok to hand him his disruptor, or use his own to end his accursed life.

Varon's wounds were severe; he spoke of duty and the Klingon way and called Kravok a coward. Kravok stared at him, wondering at his inability to assist Varon in a dignified death. Klingons did not hesitate in such matters. To do so was to show weakness and no one had ever accused Kravok of weakness and lived to boast about it. Was it the trauma of the crash, his injuries, some poison in the atmosphere of this miserable world that was affecting his judgement? All Kravok knew was that he should have ended Varon's life hours ago and that Varon was still lying there in agony and he, Kravok did not act.

The others would return soon. T'Hana and H'Narth. Both had also sustained minor injuries, but were well enough to climb the hill they had crashed into, to survey their immediate surroundings. Kravok distanced himself from Varon; he took no pleasure in hearing the injured man's groans. Soon, Varon would lack the strength to cry out for death, or any other intervention. Kravok hoped that he would pass on before the others returned.

The situation aboard ship had been bleak after the storm struck and the Enterprise fought back – self-destruction had been the only honourable course of action for the commander to take, and Kravok and the others had been the only survivors, hurtled into the storm before Commander K'Sath had issued the order to obliterate his ship. Of them all, only H'Narth had been meant to be aboard.

And now, how could they even be sure that they were on Skara? Last night as he stumbled from the wreckage of their craft, stunned and injured, Kravok had observed many moons in the night sky, but his vision was blurred and he could not trust his own eyes.

The unmistakeable hiss of a disruptor firing interrupted his thoughts. Without turning, Kravok knew that Varon was dead. T'Hana appeared at his side. "It was necessary." She said, almost gently. "Your brother deserved an honourable death." Kravok nodded, turning to see H'Narth return his disrupter to his belt. H'Narth did not meet his eye.

"Your brother's death will be avenged. H'Narth snarled. "It is the Klingon way, the warrior's way."

"Yes." Kravok thought, "But that will not bring Varon back. He stared down at his brother's motionless form, thinking, not for the first time of late, that the Klingon way was not the only way.

_Hope people are still reading – I'd love to hear your thoughts, whatever they are on the story so far. It runs to 98,000 words, so review and I'll post more, _


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for reviews and comments - I'm trying to work out how to edit so that I can go back and edit for 'plot holes' - so far my changes aren't showing. Apologies to anyone who thought the story had been posted complete. It is finished but I'm posting in instalments because it's more fun that way! I've now amended the status to 'incomplete' to avoid confusion and I'm putting chapter 8 on early by way of apology.

Aurelan

Chapter Eight

Diana King's's heart skipped a beat when she learned that the Enterprise was on its way to Starbase Ten for an overhaul. She had not seen Jim Kirk in ten years but the memory of their brief affair at Stafleeet Academy, was seared into her memory banks and she had followed his meteoric rise through the ranks to become the youngest commander of one of Starfleet's most prestigious vessels, the USS Enterprise, with keen interest.

It took a special kind of man to command a Starship and Diana had never deluded herself that Jim belonged at her side rather than on the bridge of the Enterprise. Nor would she have wanted to tether him. He was a free spirit with the soul of an explorer, a trailblazer and he belonged just where he was, amongst the stars. Still, if she knew Jim Kirk, he would still be unable to resist her charms, which she knew were no less considerable for being more mature than when she and Jim had last hooked up together. And being in Jim Kirk's company for a short while was worth more than a lifetime in the company of some men of her acquaintance. She hoped she could still count on her favourite starship captain for a little fun with no strings attached.

After breaking up with Jim (possibly the biggest mistake of her life), Diana had spent a couple of years honing her skills in her chosen field of xenoanthropology after which she had been assigned to the SS Lincoln and spent several years studying cultures and biological systems on other worlds, sometimes living amongst the various alien cultures and studying their development, incognito. It was an endlessly fascinating field and Diana had become something of an expert in her sub field of xenobiocultural anthropology.

She was currently between postings, considering a life-changing decision to settle back on Earth and take up a position lecturing on xenoanthropology at Oxford University, and accepting a proposal of marriage from Tom Foster, a fellow anthropologist whom she had met on her last assignment.

One final fling with Jim Kirk would be a fitting way to mark the end of an old way of life before she moved on. Funny how she thought of marrying Tom as moving on, yet try as she might, she could not imagine life after Tom. It was as though she had made a decision to begin a new phase of her life but at the point where it began, she drew a blank. Was it that she thought of marriage to Tom and her new post at the university as an end rather than a beginning? Diana steered her thoughts from this possibility, as she tended to do. She loved Tom, didn't she? Again, she steered away from considering this too deeply. If Tom really were the one, why was the thought of an affair, however brief, with Jim Kirk, such a delicious proposition?

And there he was, right now, across the room from her in the company of a slightly older man, who was himself, not unattractive. If she could not rekindle Jim's interest, perhaps this other would appreciate her company for a while.

"James Kirk. It's been far too long." Diana crossed the barroom floor gracefully and interrupted the captain and his officer. It was obvious from Kirk's immediate, smiling response, that he was as delighted as he was surprised to see her.

"Well, well, well. Diana King. Of all the bars in all the Universe.. You look terrific."

"And you look like a Starship captain. Just like you always did, Jim." Kirk nodded, acknowledging the compliment. Then, he turned to the man by his side waiting impatiently to be introduced. "Diana, I'd like you to meet my Chief Medical Officer and long time friend, Dr Leonard McCoy."

"The pleasure is all mine, Ma'am." McCoy said in a pronounced southern accent. And was he actually bowing as he smiled warmly and took her hand? Diana was utterly charmed by the gesture.

"Dr McCoy, your manners are completely anachronistic, but carry on like that and you will have every woman on Starbase Ten swooning."

Another bow, "_Every_ woman?" McCoy inquired innocently, though Diana did not miss his meaning. She smiled graciously. Was it that obvious that she had the hots for Jim?

"What brings you to Starbase Ten, Diana? Last I heard you were with the Lincoln. And a certain Tom Foster, if I'm not mistaken?"

So, thought Diana, he's been following my career too.

"Tom and I are…friends." She said, and was gratified to see that Jim held her gaze just a little longer than was necessary, and that his look was accompanied by an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction.

Leonard McCoy cleared his throat. The look that had just passed between his captain and Diana had not escaped his eagle eye. "The Captain and I were about to eat. I think I speak for both of us when I say that we'd be delighted if you would join us."

"I'll do better than that, I'll guide you through the bewildering choice of cuisine on offer and let you know what to steer clear of. Not everything they serve up here suits the human palate. And I believe it's Andorian night tonight. I recommend anything not Andorian."

"Believe me, after weeks of replicated food, almost anything home-cooked will suit this palate." McCoy said, gazing longingly at a passing ensign's heaped-up plateful.

"This is good." Kirk acknowledged, biting into what looked like a giant-sized, purple chicken leg. He had been informed that it was from an Andorian creature not unlike an ostrich."

"Just you wait." Diana warned. "You'll wish you'd heeded my advice when it keeps you awake all night with stomach cramps."

"It does look a tad indigestible, Jim," McCoy observed, doubtfully. He had chosen the non-Andorian chicken salad. "Nothing on Earth that colour is edible. Our ancestors would have been alerted by the colour and avoided it. Poisonous fruits and berries….

Kirk wiped some mauve-tinged grease from his fingers and reached for a second leg. "Come on Bones, there's nothing natural about the colour of that Omegan brandy I've seen you and Scotty knock back on occasion." McCoy chose not to retaliate.

"How long will the Enterprise be docked here?" Diana asked. Kirk laid his ostrich leg on his plate, his appetite suddenly spoiled. The point was a sore one.

They had docked at Starbase Ten sixteen hours earlier. Scotty's worse case scenario, presented to the captain after a thorough examination of the damage to the ship had been confirmed. The damage to the warp core was extensive. Even with a team of Starbase engineers working around the clock to effect repairs, they were looking at a lay over of at least a month at Starbase Five. The wonder was that Scotty had fixed it for them to make it to the base at any sort of speed.

"What will a month mean to Spock?" McCoy had had no answer for Jim. After his initial impulse to instigate an immediate rescue had subsided, he had reasoned that if Spock were on Skara, and if he had survived any injuries that he had sustained in the beam down in the midst of an ion storm, then his chances of survival on that planet were fair.

"That's a lot of 'ifs,' Bones," Jim had remarked.

"Keeps me from imagining the alternatives." His CMO had answered, quietly. It didn't always work, though. As a medic, McCoy was able to imagine better than most what Spock might suffer if he were injured and he was not being entirely truthful when he reassured Jim about Spock's chances. The truth was Spock was not indestructible and sometimes the very qualities that made him strong also rendered him peculiarly vulnerable.

The last thing Jim needed was negativity. McCoy was acutely aware of the captain's anxiety over his First Officer and sought to allay it. At the same time, he knew that Jim was not fooled. Kirk knew that McCoy was worried about Spock too. The only difference between them was that Kirk was not afraid to show what he felt. His emotional integrity was sometimes so raw it bled. Sometimes, it caused those closest to him to bleed too. McCoy knew, because more than any other man, he was Jim's confidante. That was just how it was, how it had to be. Jim needed him. He needed him to keep him healthy in his command, not as a doctor but as a friend. The trouble was, Jim also needed Spock. It was not that Jim was any less of a captain without Spock, just that with Spock, he was so much more.

And what of Spock? McCoy had long suspected that the Vulcan's seemingly impenetrable veneer of aloofness was a self-preservation mechanism. If Jim wore his emotions on his sleeve and the good doctor was sometimes embarrassed by his, hiding them behind a gruff manner, that he suspected fooled no-one, Spock was quite simply terrified of letting his Vulcan guard down, allowing his human half to peek out, opening the floodgates to a welter of emotions that he could not begin to deal with.

McCoy did not wish emotional chaos on the Vulcan, even as he poked and prodded at Spock's protective coating of logic and emotional detachment. All he wanted was for Spock to acknowledge what his friends already knew – that behind that carefully guarded construct, was a man as vulnerable to feeling as any McCoy knew.

"Think I'll go check on Chekov." McCoy said, pushing his salad aside and excusing himself. Like Jim, he had suddenly lost his appetite. Besides, he sensed that Diana King, charmed as she purported to be by his Southern manners, was tolerating his presence out of politeness. She wanted to be alone with Jim and that was fine with McCoy. Being in the presence of a beautiful woman might provide a temporary fix for Kirk's low mood.

"Did I say something?" Diana asked when he had gone.

"What?" Kirk asked, distracted.

"I asked how long you were expecting to be laid over at Starbase Ten and the pair of you went quiet and lost your appetites. Is the prospect of spending a little R&R time here so terrible?"

"Its…not that." Kirk said. He explained about Spock being stranded on Skara, possibily hurt and facing any surviving Klingons.

"You're worried about Mr Spock. You and the doctor. He means a lot to you both."

"I owe my life to Spock several times over." Kirk said, quietly.

"He is a Vulcan, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I haven't met many Vulcans and I haven't studied them at close hand. I hear they are cold, unapproachable."

"Spock's half human."

"How interesting. Which half?"

"He has a human mother."

"Well he can't be completely cold and unapproachable to have made such an impression on you and Dr McCoy."

"I'm not sure McCoy would agree with you." Kirk smiled.

Diana covered his hand with hers. "I'm sorry about your friend, Jim, and I understand now why you are upset at having to waste time here when you could be effecting a rescue."

Jim took her hand in his. "Tell me about you. It's been what…twelve years?"

"Thirteen. We were children, Jim."

"There was nothing childish about what we did together, as I remember." Diana actually blushed. Jim pretended not to notice. "We were quite a couple back then. Do you ever think about those days?"

"You mean do I ever think of us? What we had back then? Of course I do. Are you still mad at me for dumping you?"

Kirk smiled. As he remembered, Diana had not even bothered to break up with him in person. She had stood him up and gone to the Cadet's ball with a Starship commander, informing him only an hour before the event. He had thought her callous at the time, but they had both known that their relationship had already run its course and her action had let them both off the hook. He had danced a couple of dances with her at the ball and they had parted on good terms. Truth be told, he had not thought of her that often in the intervening years, and when he had, it had been with fondness, not regret or anger.

"I was never mad at you. You said that we were children, but we were grown up enough to know that our relationship wasn't going anywhere."

"I did care for you Jim. More than I realised at the time." Diana's hand still covered his and Jim felt a gentle pressure as she spoke. He withdrew his hand, feeling a sudden irritation. All of a sudden, he was starting to feel tense, uncomfortable in her presence. He struggled not to show it.

"To old times." Kirk toasted, raising his glass. Diana smiled,

"And old friends."

McCoy had settled Chekov in sickbay after performing surgery on him soon after their arrival at the Starbase's medical facility. Only when he was satisfied that the Ensign was out of danger, and confident that he would make a full recovery, (though heavy sedation was still indicated to assist the healing process painlessly), had he met Jim in the quarters that had been assigned to them as Starship officers. It was Jim who had talked him into taking a short break from his patient to accompany him to one of the base's many restaurants.

Now, checking the boy's vitals on the biobed in intensive care, McCoy was pleased by Chekov's readings. The Ensign was showing signs of recovery. If he did not know better, the doctor would have said that, even in his state of heavy sedation, Chekov was dreaming of his return to the Enterprises's bridge.

It was late, but McCoy was not ready for sleep. He beamed back up to the Enterprise and made for his lab where he settled down to run through Jim, Ryan and Kovac's blood results for the third time, determined to find a result.

Eight hours later, only two of which McCoy had spent asleep, he stood hesitating outside Kirk's room. If he knew Jim, one of two possibilities presented themselves; either Jim was in the room and he was not alone, or Jim was not in the room but in Diana King's room. Either way, McCoy felt that the news he had to convey took precedence over considerations for Kirk's privacy. He knocked loudly on the door.

To McCoy's amazement, a sleepy, undressed Kirk answered the door and beckoned him inside. There was no indication that Jim had had company for the night. Jim was amused to see his CMO's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Come on Bones. Even I can resist a lady's charms once in a while."

"That particular lady seemed like she'd be very hard to resist."

"Diana and I are…friends. Whatever her reasons for making a play for me last night, I didn't think it wise to resurrect the ghost of a relationship that didn't feel right first time around. And, besides, I had other things on my mind." Kirk ran his fingers through his hair and his mood darkened perceptibly.

"I know, Jim. It doesn't seem right to be here, safe and in such comfortable surroundings when he may be hurt, in danger, needing our help. Every minute we spend here is time wasted – time that Spock may not have." Kirk shot the doctor a look, picking up on McCoy's tone.

"I've isolated the toxin." McCoy said. "There's good news and bad news." Jim gave him an encouraging nod.

"Good news first. It's a simple neurotoxin, most probably derived from the venom of some native Skarran plant. I missed it first time around because it mimics certain substances already present in the nerve endings. Anyway, the cure is straightforward – an antitoxin that my staff are fixin' up as we speak." Kirk waited.

"And the bad news?" he prompted.

"The bad news, Jim, concerns Spock." Kirk nodded, knowingly.

"The toxin's effect is cumulative. The longer it's in the system, the more aggressive it becomes. Spock needs that antitoxin sooner rather than later if he's going to keep his sanity. And that's not all." He sighed, "Truth is, Jim, I can't really predict with any accuracy how Spock will be affected with his unique human-Vulcan make-up, but I can extrapolate from what I know about his particular physiology and …well, it's not good."

"Can you be more specific, doctor?" Kirk snapped.

"Worst case scenario?" McCoy said, "He'll be able to shield for a while but the effort will exhaust him. And the toxin will start to affect his functioning and his physical health – tremors, paralysis…" After delivering his gloomy prognosis, McCoy stood, looking down at his hands, clasped in front of him. He knew what sort of a blow he had just delivered to his friend.

"We're wasting time." Kirk said, abruptly, "I have an appointment with Admiral Woodhouse in half an hour. I need to find out if he has a ship." He said to McCoy. "After that, if you need me, I'll be in my quarters hopefully checking through some tapes."

"I thought there might still be a spark between us but Jim was downright immune to me last night." Diana sat opposite McCoy in the bar where she had agreed to meet him. "I'll admit I was a tad predatory in my approach. Perhaps it smacked of desperation." She shook her head, "Or maybe I'm just losing my touch."

McCoy smiled. He saw before him an attractive thirtysomething woman with velvety brown hair and soft brown eyes. Her skin was unlined and there was something girlish about her still, a lack of maturity perhaps, or an unwillingness to embrace fully, the responsibilities of adulthood. Being a man, he wondered briefly whether he could turn Jim's loss to his gain. Especially when, as now, Diana held his gaze in a way that caused him to suspect that his advances would not be discouraged.

Clearing his throat, he reassured her, "Jim's not himself at the moment." He was reluctant to reveal the source of Jim's present mental state, not that he was in a position to be accurate about that.

"Spock?" Diana asked.

"He may be hurt, in danger. Hell, for all we know he could be dead already."

"Jim said that you are likely to be laid over here for at least a month." McCoy nodded, gloomily. Diana looked thoughtful.

"Skara is off limits, isn't it? Even if you had the means to return, would Starfleet permit it?"

"Spock is a highly regarded Officer, but even if that weren't the case, Starfleet wouldn't veto a rescue attempt if a man's life were at stake. We wouldn't be breaking the prime directive."

"Somehow I get the impression that you and Jim would not abandon this particular man to his fate, whatever Starfleet ordered."

Diana's eyes watched McCoy closely as she spoke and for his part, Leonard McCoy noticed another element to this woman's attractiveness – her astuteness, the lively intelligence behind the beautiful, searching eyes.

"No." He agreed, honestly. "And it wouldn't be the first time." He recounted the details of how Jim had engineered an unscheduled stopover on the planet Vulcan when Spock was in the grip of the Pon Farr, to save his First Officer's life. As a xenoanthropologist, Diana was aware of the Vulcan mating ritual that compelled Vulcan males of a certain age to mate or die.

"I must make a point of visiting Vulcan to make a study of it one day." She commented. McCoy shrugged,

"Good luck with that; as Spock once said, the whole thing's shrouded in secrecy. It's not something they like to talk freely to outsiders about. Spock nearly died rather than share the details with us."

"Jim said that Spock had saved his life several times over. I begin to see that Skara's merely being classified as off limits, is unlikely to deter him – or you – from attempting a rescue."

"Of course we'd rather go back with Starfleet's blessing." McCoy added, aware suddenly that he was perhaps revealing too much. Diana King had a way of inviting confidences.

"I may be able to help you." Diana spoke almost casually. She paused, knowing that she had McCoy's attention, seeing also that he looked dubious but was still listening.

"There's a small private craft in dry dock here. It's a cargo ship, carries supplies between Federation outposts. It has warp capacity and is ready for departure. I happen to know that its next destination will take it within a hair's breadth of Skara. I also happen to be quite well acquainted with its skipper and I think that I could persuade him to make a detour even if it is to a classified destination." Diana smiled, seeing McCoy's expression change from one of polite interest, to attentive curiosity. She let him ponder about just what sort of favour the Captain she referred to owed her.

"This Captain," the doctor asked, casually, "Does he take passengers?"

"Again, I think he may be open to persuasion."

McCoy nodded, deliberating. Any delay in their return to Skara could prove fatal for Spock. Returning on the Enterprise was out of the question in the immediate future. Unless Jim could persuade Admiral Woodhouse to let him have a ship, this might be their best option.

"I'll speak to Jim." He answered.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The night had been a long one. As was their custom, after his death, the three Klingons had howled Varon's coming to the afterlife, where, doubtless, Kahless would be waiting to welcome a new warrior to his fold. Varon had died with honour; his fate was sealed. Throughout the bitterly cold night on Skara, the three he had left behind stayed by his lifeless body, protecting it from predators, but now that it was morning, they would walk away; there was nothing left of Varon but an empty shell; his spirit was already in Sto-Vo-Kor.

Kravok was in turmoil. He did not understand the emotions that he was experiencing. Where his mind should be occupied with thoughts of revenge, it dwelt on other matters – matters that, in truth, had preoccupied him much of late and which reached to the heart of his Klingon beliefs.

Was he a traitor to his own people if he did not believe all that he had been bred to embrace? He had seen with his own eyes what the Klingon way meant for the peoples of other worlds subjected to Klingon rule. Death, enslavement, suffering, abject misery in the name of furthering the Empire's dominance in the galaxy. But he had also seen another way. The way of the United Federation of Planets, which sought, not to subjugate the worlds it encountered, but to negotiate with them, co-operate with them; surely this was the better way?

Kravok looked at his companions, ahead of him on the path, as if fearful that they could hear his thoughts. H'Narth led the way; he outranked Kravok and T'Hana. Neither had protested; of the three, only H'Narth had militaristic ambitions – he had made no secret of his desire to command his own ship. For Kravok and T'Hana, their ambitions lay elsewhere; both were scientists, both regarded their service as a duty that must be borne.

Scientists were unimportant to the Empire except where their expertise could be utilised; when a planet was brought under the Klingon yoke, its potential must be fully exploited. Kravok had advised on the mining of useful minerals, had therefore, been responsible for the enslavement of thousands in mines producing the raw materials to further advance the expansionist ambitions of the Klingon military machine.

He had every reason to be proud of his contribution to the glory of the Empire. Instead, he was sickened. And he was not alone in feeling this way. Varon had shared his disgust; Varon's stout warrior heart had been all Klingon but it was he who had opened Kravok's heart to other possibilities. With Varon dead, would he, Kravok still have the resolve to defect to the Federation, for was not that where all these thoughts and doubts inevitably led?

Kravok looked to his companions again, sure that his hammering thoughts must be loud enough to stop them in their tracks. T'Hana looked over her shoulder at him, then called out to H'Narth. Kravok felt a wave of weakness wash over him that he hoped was not fear. Then, he was on his knees, and then he tasted earth as his face made contact with the ground, then nothing.

Night again. He remembered the long, cold night of watching over Varons's body and setting off in the morning with T'Hana and H'Narth to find water, somewhere to shelter. Now it was dark again, silvery dark for Skara had many moons that danced and wavered even as he tried to bring them into focus.

"You're awake." T'Hana's voice.

"How long?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Hours. What counts for a day on this world," T'Hana answered as she held a flask to his parched lips, letting cool water dribble over them into his eager mouth.

"You have a fever. The wound on your shoulder must be infected. Her voice, matter of fact but he could detect a note of tension. Did his life mean anything to her other than the fact that if they were to survive on this planet, they would do better three than two.

"Where is H'Narth?"

"He is looking for somewhere to shelter. There is a cave about half a mile

distant. He has taken some of our supplies from the craft there and will return to help take you there." T'Hana looked around as if checking that H'Narth was not about to emerge from the trees.

"Kravok. You must guard your tongue," she whispered. Kravok looked at her, questioningly.

"In the grip of your fever, you said things that it would be wise to conceal from H'Narth." She held Kravok's gaze. "It is fortunate for you that I was the one to stay with you." She nodded once and Kravok understood, or thought he understood, what she wished to communicate. Was it possible that in T'Hana he had an ally? Varon had held her in high regard, he knew, but he had given Kravok no hint that the Klingon woman was, 'one of us.'

"Can you stand?" H'Narth returning moments later looked down at Kravok, doubtfully. Kravok pulled himself to his knees, declining H'Narth's hand, and stood, unsteadily. He allowed his companions to support him for the journey to the cave.

The walk tired him more than he could have believed and he sank gratefully onto the bed of branches and leaves and blankets salvaged from the shuttle that had been prepared for him.

"H'Narth!" he said when they were alone, "I do not wish to be a burden. When the time comes…"

"I will do what must be done. As would T'Hana." H'Narth had not questioned Kravok's hesitation in killing Varon, perhaps because they were brothers, but he had been unable to conceal his scorn. Now he had the upper hand. Kravok would have to be careful to show no other sign of weakness.

Spock's body ached. The puncture wounds on his foot had only partially healed and they throbbed with pain at every step. The many weals inflicted by the feral creature's claws still burned in red and angry streaks over his body. By now he was expending so much energy merely on maintaining control of his pain and of his heightened emotions that there was little left to help him heal; a healing trance was out of the question. He feared that he was holding the others back in their search for the crashed Klingon vessel. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to insist that his injuries were no impediment. T'Sorf, who never seemed far from Spock's side, quickened his pace suddenly to catch up with Hunter. Too late, Spock realised with some irritation that the boy was reporting on his condition.

"Would you like to rest?" Hunter asked, falling alongside him for a moment.

"No. We must continue."

"It's not just your wounds, is it? There's something else." Spock carried on walking, unwilling to respond. "Spock?" Hunter's persistence irritated him.

"Since arriving on this planet, I have been experiencing what I can only describe as 'anxiety' or 'unease.' These are emotions that are quite unfamiliar to me under normal circumstances. The effort of maintaining control is depleting my energy reserves. Since I cannot attribute my present mental state to any other cause, I have concluded that it must be connected to some poison used by the Skarrans on their arrowtips."

Hunter listened attentively, nodding as if he understood perfectly.

"Mr Hunter." Spock asked, "Do you know of any substance on this planet that might be employed to such effect, a plant of some kind, perhaps?"

Kort stopped on the track ahead of them, surveying the land.

"I'm sorry, Mr Spock, we haven't been on Skara long enough to make a study of the local flora and fauna, but we have had a few run-ins with the Skarrans. Fortunately, we've evaded injury. We'll rest here for a bit. Here, take this." He handed the Vulcan a flask and Spock drank; the liquid was not water but something sweet that burned slightly as it slipped down his throat. He raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

"It's non-alcoholic. Made from crushed berries." Kort came and sat by them after a brief scout around the area.

"Yesterday, before I felt unwell and had to retire, you made a curious assertion," Spock said, addressing Hunter. Then, turning to Kort, he said, "Which you diverted my attention from by mentioning Ravik V."

"It was not my intention to divert your attention, Mr Spock." The Klingon answered, "I felt it necessary that you understood our past history, the circumstances of our meeting and our bond. I was afraid that you suspected Mark of sabotage against the Curie because of his connection with me. I wanted to make clear that it was friendship, not treachery that led to us being aboard the Curie's shuttle on that fateful day."

"What was your purpose in hijacking the shuttle? I can think of many other worlds between here and the site of the attack on the Curie that would attract scientists such as yourselves, but few beyond here. Logic dictates, therefore, that you were not forced to land here, but chose to. Skara was your intended destination." Spock was rewarded with a look of annoyance from Kort. Hunter merely nodded.

"I mean this as no insult, Mr Spock, but it didn't require a genius to figure that out." An eyebrow arched into Spock's forehead. Was Hunter teasing him, he wondered?

"What is less obvious," Spock said, "is why you would assume that you were the motivation behind the attack on the Curie."

"I'm not paranoid, Mr Spock. My suspicions are grounded in fact unsubstantiated facts, admittedly… Mr Spock, that thing you do with your eyebrow, does it always reflect a sceptical viewpoint?" Again, the teasing tone. Why did humans find it necessary to infuse even a serious conversation with irrelevant, lighthearted remarks? Spock checked his irritation and listened as Hunter, his tone serious again, carried on.

"You mentioned conspiracies earlier. I do not doubt that sources within Starfleet were responsible for the attack on the Curie. Furthermore, I am convinced that whoever ordered the attack, did so to ensure my death – and Kort's."

"Kort was smuggled aboard. No one knew of his presence on the ship." Spock pointed out the glaring inconsistency. Kort and Hunter both looked at T'Sorf, who looked down. Spock nodded.

"T'Sorf was not meant to have accompanied us. He stowed away, but he was caught on security cameras – the captain instigated a shipwide search, but of course, by then T'Sorf was safely hidden in my cabin with his father."

"The captain would have had no choice but to inform Starfleet that a suspected intruder was aboard. Mr Hunter, was your cabin not searched as a matter of routine?" Spock asked.

"The Curie was not a starship, Mr Spock. There were many civilians aboard, scientists, colonists, and many hiding places. It was not too difficult to keep T'Sorf hidden. Kort and I are somewhat skilled at this by now. And besides, who would suspect a scientist of hiding Klingons in his cabin?"

"I see," said Spock, "You have not yet explained why there should be a conspiracy to kill you and Mr Kort. Does it have something to do with Ravik?"

"Perhaps." Hunter replied. Spock was intrigued. The disastrous occurrences at Ravik V had never been satisfactorily explained. The most likely explanation was that the planet had been bombarded with weapons of massive destructive capacity, yet no trace of them had ever been detected, not least because by the time of the evacuation of survivors, the whole planet was breaking up. Excavations of the rubble that was all that remained of the planet had yielded no answer to date.

"The strikes on Ravik were intended to destroy the science station. The rest was collateral damage. The people who destroyed Ravik didn't care what else lay in the way of their target."

Spock was reminded suddenly of Deneva, of the amoeba-like creature that had gorged itself on whole planetary systems before he, Kirk and McCoy had found a way to halt its deleterious rampage. It had not paused to take stock of the damage it inflicted; it had been a blind, amoral force, a living organism without the restraint of consciousness. Sam, Aurelan, thousands of others - they had been its 'collateral damage.' Was it something like this that had struck Ravik V?

"You are thinking what any decent person would think, Mr Spock. What could possibly justify the deaths of so many innocent lives?"

Spock's face wore its familiar mask of impassivity but he was not without a feeling of curiosity. He found himself willing Hunter to come to the point. Humans were so tiresome with their habit of constructing a story around the facts. In his current state of irritability, Spock had no wish to be distracted by anything but the bare facts. He shivered, suddenly. Like Kort and Hunter, he was wrapped in a sleeveless animal skin that covered his upper torso, but the wind that picked up on Skara in the late afternoon was icy and more than that, the ever-present bite of panic chilled him to the bone.

"Captain Hunter." Spock said, "Am I to understand that you deliberately suppressed information relating to the strikes on Ravik?" He did not wait for the answer, alerted suddenly by a sound nearby.

He stood up but Kort motioned to him, T'Sorf and Hunter to be still. "Skarrans!" the Klingon hissed and he and Hunter pulled Spock into some bushes just as a group of ape-like creatures emerged from the trees ahead of them. They were tall and covered in shaggy, orange-coloured hair that made them look at first glance, like giant relatives of the orang-utans he had seen on Earth, but Spock noticed straight away that they were more evolved than that. All four stood upright and carried long spears tipped with sharpened stones tied in place with criss- crossing vines. Though shielded by long, matted hair and beards, their faces were unmistakably human-like. But it was the intelligence in their faces that struck Spock. These were evolving humanoids, primitive, yet cognisant.

Beside him, Kort and Hunter tensed. Spock had a sudden vision of Mara and Reena wandering alone in the forest, forgetting for a moment that they might have been a projection of his own imagination.

One of the Skaraans emitted a low growl. Then all four spread out, obviously scouting the area. Was it possible that they had picked up their scent? A second later Spock was left in no doubt that the hairy Skaraans were aware of his and his companions' presence. With a speed that denied their bulk, all four crashed towards the bushes where they were crouched in hiding.

Spock saw Hunter draw his weapon just as a hairy hand knocked it from his grasp. Too late, Spock reached for his phaser as a pair of strong arms encircled him, hoisting him into the air, throwing him down and hurling the weapon beyond his reach. Dazed, Spock watched as Kort wrestled with one of the enormous Skaraans and Hunter sparred with another.

Unnoticed, Spock groped for his phaser and set it to stun. He fired on his assailant first, then Kort's. Startled, and with a terrified look, Hunter's attacker fled into the undergrowth, leaving his weapon behind. Three hairy bodies now lay on the ground, twitching. Spock frowned. They should be out cold. He advanced on the nearest one meaning to examine it.

"Mr Spock! Their nervous systems are not as slothful as one might assume. We have approximately five minutes to get out of here." Kort grabbed Spock by the arm and propelled him forwards.

"Make for the river!" Hunter yelled to Kort. "We can wade across." Turning to Spock, he explained, "The Skarrans don't like water." Nor do Vulcans, thought Spock, cringing inwardly when he caught sight of the expanse of surely cold, water ahead. Somehow, with Kort and Hunter's help, he made it to the other side. Only T'Sorf, smaller than the others, needed to swim.

"Up there!" Kort pointed, indicating with his arm, a vantage point about a hundred metres distant, from where they would be able to take stock of their surroundings and defend themselves from attack if the need arose.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

"Your first encounter with our Skarran friends, Mr Spock. I doubt that you were impressed."

"On the contrary." Spock corrected Kort, "Their physique is most impressive and their weapons, though primitive, quite effective."

Hunter laughed. He did not know how to take this Vulcan with his cutting irony and outwardly solemn demeanour. Was Spock being humorous? He had heard that Vulcans never joked and, indeed, Spock's face betrayed no sign of amusement, but there was a glint of something in his eyes that belied his serious expression.

"There's more to this one that meets the eye," Hunter thought, "He is a man of deliberately hidden depths." Was there anyone close enough to him to be permitted more than a one-dimensional glimpse of the personality he kept so carefully guarded? Hunter hoped so; the Vulcan, he suspected, was a deeply lonely man.

"They're not pursuing us. The phaser probably terrified them and they won't brave the river unless they're in mortal danger, not without some kind of canoe." Kort said. "Let's take a rest."

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They resumed their trek some time later, this time sticking to the higher ground until the day began to darken. Walking at a distance behind the others, and concentrating on keeping his pain and anxiety at bay, Spock lacked the energy and opportunity to question Kort and Hunter further about Ravik. In the Skarran twilight, he looked wearily towards the distant hills where he had seen the Klingon shuttle plummet from the sky and it seemed that after a whole day's walking, they were no closer to reaching them.

In a cave in the hillside, Spock used his phaser to warm some large stones, providing a welcome heat. Like the others he had waded, waist high across the river and he was soaked through and, for a Vulcan, dangerously cold. He thought suddenly of Dr McCoy and how he would be fussing around him if he were here, hiding his concern behind a show of grouchiness. To his surprise, the thought made Spock wish the doctor, not far away as he surely must be, but close at hand, for all his faults.

T'Hana woke in the night and looked over at her companions. H'Narth was snoring rhythmically, dead to the world but Kravok slept restlessly, the sheen of fever still on his brow. At least he was silent; the treasonous words he had uttered earlier would have earned him instant execution, had they fallen on other ears.

Where did such words come from? T'Hana knew that there were Klingons who were tired of the old ways. Some even spoke of making peace with the Federation, real peace, not the forced co-operation over neutral zones imposed by the Organians. For the time being, the Empire and the Federation existed in a state of suspended reality, poised between peace and outright war.

As a Klingon, T'Hana's dreams should have been of the glory of her people's eventual victory, but as a scientist her passions lay in other things and she could not help but think of the scientific and other advantages of being at peace with the Federation, particularly, of the opportunities for scientific collaboration. It thrilled her and frightened her to know that Kravok too, dreamt of the same eventual outcome. Her own brother had known Varon well and it was from him that she had learned of Kravok's leanings. There were others, she knew, but opponents of the ruling Klingon elite were not in the habit of broadcasting their dissent. Change would come one day, but it would come slowly and from within.

Unable to sleep, T'Hana wrapped herself in a blanket and left the cave. Outside she marvelled at the effect of the moonlight from Skara's many moons. The air she breathed was thin compared to that of her own world but one could become accustomed to that in time, she thought. Without meaning to, she was imagining a whole other future, right here on Skara. It was impossible. H'Narth had spoken of a mission on this planet that had not been revealed to all aboard the ship; as scientists, she and Kravok would be the last to know what that mission was. It would not be long before another ship arrived to ensure that the mission, whatever it was, was carried out, and she, Kravok and H'Narth would be 'rescued."

Back inside the cave, T'Hana watched H'Narth's chest rise and fall as he slept. How easy it would be to slit his throat and let the blood pour forth. She and Kravok would be free. But that would not change the fact that others were coming and they could not stop them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Good to see you, Jim. It's been too long." George Woodhouse stood up and extended his hand warmly, as Kirk crossed the room to his desk. Jim smiled and shook George Woodhouse's hand, feeling genuine affection. Though nearly twice Jim's age, the man before him looked only ten years his senior. Jim had attended some of Woodhouse's classes at the Academy and they had become friends despite the difference in age. In the intervening years, they had touched base maybe a dozen or so times. The space in between was always too long.

"Good to see you too, George. How are Kat and the girls?"

"Kat's never better. She's looking forward to seeing you. This evening, by the way. Seven sharp. If you're not there, my life won't be worth living. And make sure you bring that old quack Len McCoy with you. The girls are, let me see…"

Woodhouse had four daughters, two of them already in Starfleet, the other two at the Academy. The next ten minutes were taken up with his proud descriptions of their exploits and achievements. Kirk listened, wondering if the Admiral were aware that he had slept with one of his daughters whilst still a cadet. He decided that George Woodhouse was innocent of the knowledge.

Truth to tell, despite McCoy's shot, Kirk was finding it hard to conceal his mounting impatience. That he felt impatience with this old friend was itself a source of irritation; he could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow from the strain. Woodhouse's room was hot and he interpreted Kirk's obvious discomfort as a reaction to the heat.

"You alright there, Jim? Look a little hot."

"I'm just used to the temperature aboard the Enterprise; it's a little warmer down here."

"Make the most of this fresh air while you can, Jim. Although, I must admit the summers on SB Ten can be hot. I'll activate the air-conditioning if you like. Don't tend to use it myself – find it better to acclimatise.

"I'm fine, George."

"I hear the Enterprise is going to be in dock for a while. And what's this I hear about you and two of your crewmen being poisoned?"

_News travels fast. _Thought Kirk, but of course, the Admiral had already seen Kirk's logbooks. Woodhouse regarded him closely when he explained how he was affected.

"I have it under control, thanks to the 'old quack'" Kirk reassured him. Then, because he could restrain himself no longer, Jim blurted out, "George, I need a ship." Woodhouse smiled,

"You have a ship, Jim. I take it this is about your First Officer?" Kirk nodded.

"I don't think it's a coincidence that that Klingon ship was at Skara."

"What are you saying, Jim?"

"Think about it, George. The Enterprise receives a distress signal seemingly emanating from Skara. Lieutenant Uhura couldn't begin to explain the loss of that signal, or confirm its origin. She was puzzled. She even suggested that the source of the signal might not have been Skara at all, despite the evidence of her own instruments. It's not that difficult to fake a signal."

"A lure? From the Klingon ship?"

" Possibly."

" Unless the Klingons also received some kind of message."

"Klingons don't generally respond to distress signals. They're more likely to be the cause of them." Kirk said, irritably.

"You say the Klingon ship was destroyed by the effects of the storm? "

Kirk explained about the Klingon shuttle.

"It's unlikely anyone made it to the surface of Skara alive."

"Even without the Klingons' presence there, Spock's life could be in danger. George, Spock is a first rate officer."

"Mr Spock's reputation is not in dispute. He's been called the best First Officer in the fleet."

"He's my friend." Woodhouse nodded. Kirk changed tack.

"Admiral, what do you know about the Curie incident?"

"What everyone knows." Woodhouse answered, guardedly. Kirk waited. "Hell, Jim, why are you asking?

Ittitated again, Kirk explained about the Curie's shuttle, knowing that his friend must have seen this in the ship's log also.

"It's a possibility is that the distress signal was sent by Hunter and whoever helped him hijack that shuttle."

"Kort. The person who helped him was a Klingon by the name of Kort."

It was Kirk's turn to be surprised. "Jim, do you have reason to believe that either of these men might still be alive?"

"There were no bodies in the wreckage. Skara is a habitable planet. I would say there's a good chance that they survived and are living on Skara. George, did you know these men?" George Woodhouse stared at Kirk for a moment. Something about his posture suggested indecision.

"Dammit, Jim, I know I can trust you."

"What do you mean, George, of course you can trust me."

"Used to be a person could automatically trust that uniform, not any more." Kirk frowned, waiting for the Admiral to explain. Woodhouse sighed and seated himself behind his desk, motioning to Jim to take a seat

"Ever hear of Ben Caton?"

"Admiral Caton? Are you serious?" Kirk had been about to ask Woodhouse the same question. Had his hunch about linking Caton with the Curie incident and Skara been right? Ben Caton was one of the biggest names in Starfleet. He had risen from captain to admiral after an illustrious career. "Everyone's heard of Ben Caton."

"Ben and I were friends at the Academy. Close as brothers. We started out as ensigns together on the Heracles. You know how it is in the Service, Jim; you come to rely on people. I trusted Ben." Woodhouse shook his head. "I knew he had a ruthless streak, but I put it down to ambition. Ben wanted to be Starfleet's youngest ever Starship captain." At this, Woodhourse looked at Kirk and they exchanged smiles – that was an accolade Jim had under his own belt.

"I'm guessing Caton let you down?"

"More than that, Jim. I think he tried to kill me – or, at best, left me for dead." That was quite a claim to make against one of Starfleet's leading lights. Kirk's interest was piqued. He looked at George Woodhouse's anxious profile and realised his old friend still felt the betrayal – whatever it had been – keenly.

"It was way back when, Jim. We'd been called to Vascus, a tiny, but mineral rich world in the Nebbling system, to come to the aid of the Vascan people. It was in the days before the Organians' treaty and our interests there clashed with our old enemies'" Kirk nodded. Woodhouse was referring to a time when encounters between the Klingons and the Federation tended to be brief and bloody.

"Our ship was the closest to Vascus and Ben and I were members of the landing party that answered the distress call. It was a violent little skirmish, Jim. Ben and I got separated from the rest of the party and were captured by a group of renegade Vascans who'd sided with the Klingons, for profit, naïve idiots." Kirk gave a nod of understanding. The Klingons were infamous for reneging on deals with local populations.

"Well, to cut a long story short, I brokered a deal with the rebels – got them to fight with us against the Klingons and saw those bastards off the planet. Vascus joined the Federation and – happy ending all round."

Kirk was looking thoughtful. "As I remember it, it was Ben Caton, not you who negotiated that deal with the Vascan rebels. What really happened, George?"

"It happened the way I told it, Jim. With one crucial difference. It was Ben Caton who got the kudos for squaring it with the Vascans. After he'd reported me dead to our Captain." Kirk waited as Woodhouse paused to pour them both a drink.

"The Vascans escorted us part of the way back to where we could contact the rest of our landing party. Ben and I had to ride the rest of the way over mountainous terrain." Woodhouse scratched the back of his head. "I never really knew what hit me, Jim. To this day I couldn't swear that it was Ben. One minute I was riding along thinking of the promotion my little foray into negotiating would earn me, next minute the lights went out and I was waking up out of a coma and a whole year had gone by."

Kirk was listening attentively; he looked surprised at George's words, but did not interrupt. "Took me another six months to get myself back on my feet and contact Starfleet. By then, Ben Caton had been promoted to lieutenant and had transferred off the Heracles.

"And his story was?" Kirk asked.

"That my horse had stumbled on a rock and thrown me over the side of a ravine. His words were, 'no one could have survived a fall like that.' Besides, he knew that time was of the essence if we were going to rally the different factions of the Vascan government in time to oust the Klingons."

"So he left you for dead and took the credit himself." Kirk could barely conceal his anger. Woodhouse ignored him and continued.

"I was rescued by one of the Vascan hill people and spent eighteen months in one of their villages suffering multiple injuries from the fall that should have killed me. I also had amnesia. It was three years before my memory of the event returned and by then Ben had distinguished himself several times over and was well on his way to his first command.

"You never challenged him?"

"I could have simply fallen, as Ben claimed. Three years after the event, I had no way of proving my suspicions. And I couldn't trust my own memories. I had to let it go. "

"The Vascan rebels could have corroborated your story, confirmed that it was you, not Ben who brokered the deal." George Woodhouse shook his head.

"All dead, Jim." Kirk nodded. The Vascans had united against the Klingons but that had not meant they could live together in harmony – a bloody civil war had left their already small population decimated.

"Does Caton have something to do with the Curie incident? Is that why you're telling me this, George?"

"Curie. Skara. Caton could be your link. I've been following Caton's career for years and it occurred to me that no man could have had his luck. Always seeming to be in the right place at the right time. It had caused a welter of speculation but no scandal has ever been attached to the Admiral's name. I went back and examined his logs. I've also spoken to former crewmembers of his who don't remember certain events occurring in quite the way Caton recorded them."

Kirk stared at his old friend in disbelief. Falsifying a log entry was a serious offence. It was also difficult to do. Caton would have had to alter his accounts after they had been entered and checked. George carried on, "There were rumours in Klingon quarters after Curie, that the order to destroy the ship was routed through a Federation source close to the Klingon ship. Caton was in the vicinity but you can't stick anything on a man of his standing without proof."

Kirk's brow furrowed. George Woodhouse, he knew had contacts in the highest echelons of Starfleet; still, could it be that he was simply an old man with a grudge? There was no proof that Caton was a traitor, just as there was no proof that he had tried to kill George.

"You're not wholly convinced, Jim. That's alright. I don't expect you to jump aboard my truckload of theories about Ben Caton. Maybe you're thinking I want revenge for a ruined career?" Kirk glanced over at the motorised wheelchair near Woodhouse's desk. George could not get far without it. When Kirk had asked him back at the Academy how he had ended up in it, Woodhouse had dismissed his question, referring simply to his, 'accident.' The one that had meant he ended up studying Law and teaching at the Academy instead of in charge of his own Starship.

"It may interest you to know that I'm not the only one with suspicions about Caton, Jim. The net's slowly closing in. Trouble is, Caton has friends in high places and for whatever reason, they're protecting him."

Kirk whistled. "That's some theory, George."

"The Curie tragedy may not be Caton's greatest sin. I have reason to believe he was involved in the strikes on Ravik V." Woodhouse nodded, seeing the astonishment in Kirk's face.

"Jim, you might just have stumbled on something significant at Skara. The two scientists, Kort and Hunter were on the science station on Ravik at the time of the strikes. They were working on a highly classified project. They spent years following up leads on the attack and their trail led them to Ben Caton."

"You've been in contact with them?" Woodhouse nodded.

"Caton knew they were after him. I believe he had the Curie destroyed because he knew they were aboard. More, they had something on him." Jim looked up, catching Woodhouse's eye.

"You think Caton's on Skara?"

"If that's where Kort and Hunter have gone, then I think they may well have gone after him." Something didn't add up, Kirk thought.

"Why George? For what possible reason would Ben Caton wish to destroy a whole planet?"

"He knew what they were working on there." Kirk waited expectantly.

"Took me a long time to find out. There was more secrecy surrounding that project than around Vulcan mating rituals." Kirk smiled, despite his anger; that was a subject that he had had cause to become acquainted with.

"It had to do with developing a hyperwarp facility for Federation starships. A ship had been found and brought to Ravik. Its engines were like nothing anyone'd ever seen before, and at its heart, an unidentifiable mineral that seemed to do what dilithium crystals do for our warp core and more. Kort and Hunter were directly involved in researching this. It's their belief – and mine – that Caton is developing the hyperwarp for the Klingons and he just might be doing it on Skara."

It was a lot to take in. "That's a helluva conspiracy theory, George." Was all Kirk could find to say.

"That First Officer of yours, he means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

For a moment, Kirk's agitation evaporated completely. In his mind's eye he had a vision of Spock glancing up from his station on the bridge, looking over his shoulder the better to catch his captain's eye. An ordinary moment that had repeated itself time and again over the past couple of years, yet it seemed so far away now. In that moment, all Kirk wanted was for the ordinariness to return, for him to look up and connect with his friend. He answered Woodhouse with a nod.

"I understand, Jim, I really do. But if Caton is on Skara, he has to be stopped. That has to be your primary mission in returning there. Think what it would mean for the Federation if the Klingons developed a hyperwarp first. I'll get in touch with people I know I can trust at Starfleet. Your orders are to return to Skara and investigate what's going on there. Commander Scott will be under orders to join you there forthwith. I'll do my best to find you a ship by the end of the week. Kirk sighed. Rescuing Spock had just got a whole lot more complicated.

The Enterprise was in good hands at Starbase Ten's spacedock. Even her first engineer was beginning to feel like a spare pair of hands as a team of capable professionals set to work on her refit. McCoy had finally persuaded Montgomery Scott to leave them to their job and beam down to the surface of the planet where the Starbase's main administrative and recreational facilities were situated.

"I wonder how the Captain's farin' with Admiral Woodhouse? I hope the laddie's behavin' himself. He's been mighty touchy these past few days."

"I may have some good news for him." McCoy remarked and he told Scotty about his conversation with Diana King.

"Dr McCoy, I hope you were intendin' to invite me along. Some of those freighters are fit for nothin' more than the scrap heap, if you don't mind me sayin' so. You're going to need an engineer along to ensure your – and the Captain's safety."

McCoy grinned. Scotty's reaction was exactly what he would have predicted.

"Scotty, I knew you'd say that, but, as third in command, Jim needs you here. And I know it would break your heart to leave the Enterprise in the middle of a refit." This much was true.

"Besides, we're going to need you to command the Enterprise and make sure she gets to Skara." Scotty grunted.

"Aye, I reckon I could manage that, alright."

"What do you mean you've got me a ship?" Kirk asked his CMO, puzzled. Had McCoy somehow overheard his conversation with Admiral Woodhouse? McCoy explained about his meeting with Diana.

"Trust Diana." Kirk said, "Well, it's not ideal, but we can't hang around for a week waiting for a ship. To George, he said, after obtaining permission to travel incognito on the Aurora, "I guess this means dinner's off. Tell Kat, another time."

"Somehow, boarding at this ungodly hour makes it seem underhand." McCoy remarked to Kirk, hours later as they waited where Diana had instructed them to wait, well past midnight.

"How was Chekov?"

"He's as well as can be expected. I've left him in capable hands. Good news about Ryan. There's no trace of the toxin in his bloodstream. My serum seems to have eradicated it. So, it should be having a similar effect on you before long."

"McKay! Hopkirk!" The voice seemed to boom out of nowhere. Both men turned, recognising the aliases they had given Diana for the Aurora'a captain.

Kirk stepped forward in answer to the man walking towards them.

"I'm Jim Hopkirk. This is Len McKay."

"Roger Weston."

"Captain." Said Kirk and McCoy in unison, McCoy bowing slightly in his best southern gentlemanly fashion, Kirk nodding faintly. Diana had told her friend only that they were acquaintances of hers. Weston had no idea of their true identities. Kirk and McCoy were dressed in civilian clothes.

"At ease, gentleman. I'm a civilian. Diana tells me you need a lift. To Skara. I'm not in the habit of breaking Federation rules. You are aware, of course that that planet is off limits, non-interference and all that. Weston glared at Kirk as he spoke.

"Quite aware, Captain. We have no wish to place you or your crew at risk of breaking the law."

In response, Weston simply harrumphed loudly as if to indicate that he did not give two hoots about breaking Federation laws.

He was a big man, taller than either McCoy or Kirk and he had an impressive girth. His long hair, receding at the temples, was pulled back in a ponytail, his face was shadowed by dark stubble and he was dressed colourfully, flamboyantly, even, in red silk robes. Something of an eccentric, Kirk thought, sensing a maverick personality that perhaps made him ideally suited to the independent, roving lifestyle of a deep space trader.

"I can get you close enough to Skara to travel the rest of the way in one of my shuttles, but it'll cost you. I owe Diana but not that much. If there's a Starfleet scouting ship in the area, the deal's off. Do you still want a ride?"

Kirk nodded, "I think we can do business, Captain."

Aboard the Aurora's cramped shuttle Weston, navigating his way around the dock where the Enterprise was moored, commented, "Beautiful ship. No doubt it's crew wouldn't board her the old-fashioned way, like us. Sorry I can't offer you the luxury of a transporter, gentlemen."

It was only after a full five minutes of listening to the older of his two passengers remonstrating on the unnaturalness of having his atoms scrambled and reassembled for the sake of saving the time it would take to travel by light spacecraft, that the Aurora's captain conceded that the transporter was not everyone's favoured mode of travel. "He's quite a character, isn't he?" He remarked to Kirk when McCoy moved aft to check his kit. Kirk grinned.

"His bark's worse than his bite."

"What's your business on Skara?" Kirk considered whether Weston expected a truthful answer.

"We're looking for a friend." He answered, laconically. To his relief, Weston did not probe further. The Enterprise was still within Kirk's field of vision and he kept his eye on her, captivated by his ship's graceful beauty and the novelty of seeing her from a distance like this. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw McCoy looking at him and smiling in silent acknowledgement of his own thoughts.

By contrast, Roger Weston's ship was an unattractive sight. Clearly a vessel designed for practical use, if not ugly, its form was basic and unadorned. On first catching sight of it, McCoy immediately recalled Scotty's comment about scrap heaps and was inclined to agree. He and Kirk exchanged dubious looks. The Aurora's captain, on the other hand, was evidently proud of his ship, even if he did introduce her with an apology.

"Gentlemen – The Aurora. She's not much to look at, granted, but a sounder little ship you won't find in the galaxy."

Kirk and McCoy made appreciative noises.

The shuttle docked smoothly in the Aurora's hold. As they disembarked, Captain Weston pointed out another, smaller shuttle anchored in an adjacent bay. This he explained, he could hire to Kirk and McCoy, when they reached an appropriate distance from Skara. After two weeks, he would be able to rendezvous with them to pick them up.

With luck, the Enterprise would be providing back up in less than a week. Until then, they would be on their own, gathering what information they could on what Caton was up to on Skara. Woodhouse had all but warned Kirk off putting his First Officer's safety before the mission, but Kirk and McCoy were of one mind on this. As long as it did not jeopardise the mission, they would do what they could to locate Spock.

Being a small ship, the Aurora's crew was pared down to essential personnel. The first crewmember to greet them, by throwing her arms around Weston and kissing him warmly, was Nancy Armitage, whom Weston introduced as the ship's engineer. Nancy prodded him in the ribs and he added, "Did I forget to mention – Nancy's also my wife. And she's the favour I owe Diana King." McCoy and Kirk waited, uncomprehending, for an explanation.

"Diana introduced us." Nancy explained.

She was a sprite, kirk thought, petite and Elvin-like; a pair of pointed ears would not have looked amiss under the lustrous dark hair that fell past her shoulders. Kirk found himself searching for them and was almost disappointed to see that they were entirely human.

"I'm sorry your quarters are so cramped." Nancy apologised as she opened the door to a room that was less than half the size of their quarters aboard the Enterprise. "Out of necessity, most of our on board space is given over to storage. We carry a lot of cargo. There's not much left over for living space and I'm afraid this is the smallest cabin."

"It's fine." McCoy reassured her. Kirk smiled in agreement. When she had gone, they unpacked their bags, taking care to place tricorders and phasers and McCoy's well-stocked medikit out of sight. Nancy had assured them that their quarters were private but these were necessary precautions to conceal their identities.

"It's going to be a long week." McCoy sighed, looking around at their cramped living space.

"Perhaps we can make ourselves useful." Kirk said, rubbing his eyes.

"You okay, Jim?" Kirk nodded, though he felt irritable. It was normal irritation, not the kind he had been used to feeling after Skara.

Inside, the Aurora looked to be in good shape. After two days aboard ship, Kirk had become well acquainted with her workings. He was particularly impressed with the state of her engineering rooms. Nancy Armitage was a skilled engineer and he wondered at her lack of ambition in working aboard the Aurora when she was demonstrably able in her chosen profession. As if reading his mind, she explained to him that she had grown bored with the rigours of a normal working life.

"I'm a free spirit, like Roger." She declared, and indeed, Kirk had to concede that, skilled as she was, Nancy Armitage was not the type of person who would flourish under the disciplines enforced by the service. She – and Weston were simply too unconventional.

Kirk was surprised to learn that the Aurora provided a home for the couple as well as a livelihood. "This is all we need for now." Nancy explained, "A life among the stars – How could anyone want more?" Kirk was not the man to argue with that.

Besides Nancy and Roger, there were three other crewmembers – Hag, an uncharacteristically shy and peace-loving Andorian with a gentle, unassuming personality was the navigator and cook. Nyreea, a porcelain-faced humanoid of delicate beauty from the Beltan system was introduced as a general crewmember and the ship's medic, though her qualifications for the latter were doubtful at best. And Weston had taken on another latecomer, a tall, slender young man with glossy black hair which, he wore shoulder length and tied back in a pigtail. He introduced himself, unsmilingly, as Stephen Blackstone. He seemed a particularly solitary individual, and more than a tad aloof.

It did not take long for Kirk and McCoy to work out that the Aurora's crewmembers were misfits and rebels. Hag despised the warlike characteristics of his fellow Andorians. He was a writer and poet. Nyreea was an artist who sold her works wherever the Aurora travelled to. Blackstone was reticent about his reasons for being aboard, claiming only that he needed work and wanted to see other worlds. He claimed to have worked on other ships and to have a high level of technical expertise. Weston had put him to work on the bridge, monitoring consoles. Otherwise, he was a useful spare pair of hands.

For the most part, after the Aurora's goods had been brought aboard and stored, there was little in the way of duties for the crew to perform, and they were left with ample time to pursue their various interests. Weston, too, it transpired, had an obsession - xenoentomology. His quarters contained drawerfuls of insects from all over the galaxy that he had collected and classified and which he regularly donated to museums. He was particularly proud of his beetle collection, which contained many hitherto undiscovered species.

McCoy and Kirk volunteered for work and were politely turned down. "We don't go in for unnecessary labour on this ship." Nancy informed them. "We spend our time cultivating our interests and in study. For example, I'm working on modifying and extending a design for impulse engines proposed in a recent paper by a senior Starfleet engineer I'm in contact with – you may have heard of him – Montgomery Scott?" Kirk and McCoy shook their heads in unison.

"I'd love to meet him one day and discuss his ideas about neutrino technology. He's an absolute darling in our communications, always ready to review my ideas. I think he's rather sweet on me too."

"Wait 'til we tell our 'absolute darling' that his lady love is married to a six-foot six, pony-tailed bug-collector." McCoy laughed, unable to contain his mirth.

Three nights into their journey on the Aurora, Kirk and McCoy were startled into wakefulness by the sound of what was obviously the ship's alert siren, a loud, repetitive wailing that would set the steeliest nerves on edge. Kirk was out of his bunk in a flash, pulling on his clothes as McCoy struggled out of REM sleep, blinking sleep bleary eyes at his wide- awake-and ready- for- action Captain.

"What the blazes…" grumbled the CMO.

"Something's wrong." Kirk replied. "I'm going to find out what it is."

"Be careful, Jim." Cautioned McCoy, "Remember, you're not the captain of this ship."

Kirk ignored McCoy's remark and hurried into the corridor where he encountered Stephen and Hag making their way to the bridge. Neither could enlighten him as to the cause of the red alert. When they reached the bridge, Kirk assessed the situation instantly. He bit back his instinctive impulse to bark out orders and looked at Weston and Armitage, alarmed by their expressions of confusion.

"We've been monitoring the movements of a ship in our vicinity for a couple of hours." Nancy said, "It seemed to loom out of nowhere, then just kept its distance, but it's closing in and we're afraid its intentions may be hostile."

Stephen Blackstone sat at a console and began taking readings. "I can't identify its origin." He said after a couple of seconds. "From its present course and orientation it seems logical to conclude that it is pursuing us with hostile intent. Why else would it ignore our attempts to communicate?"

The Aurora's crew were now assembled on the small bridge. McCoy and Nyreea were the last to arrive and McCoy noted that the fragile Beltan clutched a small medikit to her chest. All eyes were on Roger Weston.

"Suggestions?" he asked, uncertainly, looking round at his crew.

"I say we wait." Hag said.

"I agree." Nyreea.

"I propose taking some kind of evasive action." This from Blackstone.

Kirk listened in despair. It was clear to him that no one on this bridge had the faintest idea how to handle an emergency situation. McCoy could sense his captain's frustration from across the room.

"Try contacting them again." Weston said.

"Aurora to unidentified ship. We mean you no harm. Please state your business with us." Hag's voice carried no conviction, no ring of authority. Kirk thought of his own bridge, the efficient machine that was his bridge crew; Spock's steady support. He waited.

"We don't know they wish us harm. Why would anyone want to attack a cargo ship?" Nyreea said.

"They could be pirates." Nancy suggested.

"Pirates are almost unheard of in this sector." Said Blackstone.

Kirk could bear it no longer, "If you hold your present position, you're asking for trouble. May I suggest that you consider Blackstone's advice and initiate evasive manoeuvres before it's too late?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, but even so, all eyes turned on him with the same expression of interest and expectation that he had observed in the eyes of his own crew.

Kirks words seemed to galvanise Weston into acting. "Let's give it a shot. Nancy, can we manage warp two?" Nancy nodded and hurried off to engineering. "Stephen, set a course for the Menges belt, we may be able to lose him in the asteroid field – some are as big as dwarf planets."

Now you're talking, thought Kirk. It was what he would have ordered.

"What's your weapons capacity?" he asked, not feeling hopeful.

"Mr Hopkirk. We're a cargo ship, not a fighting ship." Said Weston.

"All ships have some means of defending themselves."

"We have limited capacity." Hag informed Kirk.

"How limited?" The answer did nothing to raise Kirk's spirits.

The Aurora lurched momentarily as it responded to Hag's sudden change of course. Kirk kept his eyes on the small viewscreen, monitoring the other ship's response – and was unsurprised to see that it altered course immediately to match theirs.

"I think that answers any questions about whether he's in pursuit." Weston declared. "What if we can't outmanouvre him?" The question was directed at Kirk.

"Then we'll soon find out exactly what his intentions are." Kirk answered, grimly.

For the next five hours they played a game of cat and mouse. Each time the Aurora changed course, the mystery ship immediately adjusted its own course and speed to remain in pursuit. It was McCoy who first started calling it 'The Shadow.'

The so-called Shadow provided no clues as to its origin. It was approximately the same size and classification as the Aurora but that fact alone said nothing about its weapons capacity. Did it have photon torpedos? Kirk asked himself. The Aurora had a limited number of missiles – they would have to be used with pinpoint accuracy and to maximum effect.

What was its interest in the Aurora? Whenever Jim asked himself that question, the scenarios that popped into his head were of no comfort.

"Get some rest, Jim." McCoy urged when they had been shadowed for more than twenty hours." Kirk had spent most of that time on the bridge with Weston and Stephen Blackstone. The Aurora's crew's concern had evaporated over the hours as the mystery vessel did nothing more than tail them at a distance, but Kirk's instincts told him they should not let their guard down. Their Shadow was there for a reason.

They were now deep within the maze of asteroids known as the Menges Belt, and Hag was proving to be a competent but not skilled navigatior. Jim itched to be in control. If the Shadow became more of a threat, he was prepared to take over to employ tactical manoeuvres to diffuse it – even at the expense of blowing his cover. Reluctantly he settled down on his bunk and closed his eyes. Within minutes he was asleep. Satisfied that Jim would sleep, McCoy let his own heavy eyelids close.

"What the blazes...!" The shuddering jolt shook Kirk and McCoy off their bunks and brought everything in the cabin that wasn't secured crashing down on top of them.

"We're under attack!" Kirk's voice, urgent, alarmed. How was this possible? The Shadow had not even been within range. Cursing aloud, Kirk stumbled to the door, McCoy close behind. In the corridor, both men were thrown to the floor again as a second blast shook the Aurora's frame and she listed violently.

On the bridge, only Hag was at his post. "Where's Weston?" Kirk asked, already knowing the answer. More than one captain had been caught napping.

Roger Weston arrived on the bridge in time to hear Kirk request an update on the situation, and to hear Hag's faltering reply.

"It just seemed to loom up out of nowhere like it did before." He said, bafflement showing in his face. McCoy could not have said at what precise moment Kirk took command of the situation – and the Aurora- but as soon as he set foot on the bridge, Weston seemed to defer to the Enterprise's Captain. Certainly, Kirk used Weston's hesitation on assuming control, as a spur to action.

"Evasive manoeuvres." He instructed, bypassing Hag and setting a course himself into a cluster of asteroids that would give cover, just as another blast caused the ship to jolt and shudder. Just how had the Aurora strayed into an open and vulnerable position?

Kirk turned to Weston and asked, "What damage have we sustained?" Stephen Blackstone walked onto the bridge in time to fill Kirk in; he was noticeably dragging his left leg.

"We took a slight hit on the forward hull. The missile must have glanced off our flank –the second hit an asteroid ahead of us – we felt the blast but suffered no damage." He nodded at the screen, where a billion splinters of rock radiated outwards from the Aurora, the pulverised debris of something big and solid. Kirk was puzzled. "We've strayed from the course set earlier." He said. Hag looked around, shamed.

"I must have fallen asleep." Kirk took a deep breath and counted to twenty. It was inconceivable to him that a man steering a ship through an asteroid belt could allow his concentration to slip so completely. He had to remind himself that Hag was untrained, undisciplined, but still he could not have been as forgiving as Roger Weston was now showing himself to be.

"We all make mistakes, Hag. I've made plenty in my time. Still, when all our lives are at stake, some extra vigilance wouldn't go amiss. I'm relieving you of your duty. I suggest you rest for a bit." Hag slumped off without meeting a single eye.

"Is that it?" Kirk asked, incredulous. Hag shrugged his shoulders.

"We don't seem to measure up to your standards, Mr Hopkirk. You think I should have been harsher with Hag?"

"It's your ship." Kirk answered, curtly.

"Yes it is. And you are a passenger on my ship."

"You were ready enough to take my lead when your ship was under attack." McCoy groaned inwardly, willing Jim to leave it at that. Weston ignored the comment. He took up a seat at the navigation console.

"Let's hope he can manage to keep his eyes open." Jim muttered to McCoy.

"Easy, Jim." The doctor said.

"I don't like this. What's this so-called Shadow up to? McCoy had no answer.

"Go on." Jim said to his CMO. "I saw you looking at the way Blackstone was dragging his leg. I know you're desperate to find out if Nyreea's skills as a medic are as lacking as Hag's as a navigator and Weston's as a Captain. Go patch Blackstone up."

McCoy winced and decided to come clean. Hell, he had stopped at his cabin to pick up his medikit. What was the point of allowing Blackstone to suffer?

"That leg needs attention. If you'll allow me? I'm a doctor." Blackstone's manner, McCoy noticed was cagey. McCoy nodded at the young man reassuringly, but Blackstone all but backed away, "I assure you Doctor, I am not in need of attention."

"You're dragging your leg."

"An old injury. I sustained a knock when the torpedo hit. It is not serious."

"If you don't want me to examine it, perhaps Nyreea might?" Blackstone laughed, instantly transforming his normally serious face.

"Nyreea would not know what to do. She is a medic in name only. Nancy cut her finger yesterday and Nyreea would not go near. She faints at the sight of blood."

"At least let me give you something for the pain," McCoy offered, noticing the young man suppress a wince.

"Not necessary. I am more than capable of managing my own pain, thank you, Doctor McKay." The fleeting smile was gone and Blackstone's expression had settled into one of composure."

"Suit yourself." Muttered McCoy. "You know, you remind me of someone, son." He said, shaking his head and leaving Blackstone to ponder.

Truth to tell, McCoy was slightly shocked. If what Blackstone had said about Nyreea were true, with the exception of Nancy, who at least was a skilled engineer, and possibly Blackstone who had yet to prove himself one way or another, a more inept crew it would be hard to assemble.

Back in their quarters, Jim was still seething. "They're a danger to themselves, Bones. We'll be lucky to make it to Skara alive."

"They're slapdash, Jim. But they're civilians. We shouldn't be so quick to judge." Kirk sighed,

"That Shadow may be a real threat. Weston hasn't got a clue how to deal with it." He did not say what else was on his mind – as long as they hid out in the Menges system, their chances of reaching Skara in time to help Spock diminished. There was no need for him to point out what he knew McCoy was already thinking.

"Dr McKay!" Another disturbed sleep. Nancy Armitage banged on Kirk and McCoy's cabin in the middle of the night. Again, it was Kirk who was immediately alert.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Nyreea. She's been injured. Stephen says you are a medical doctor, Please help her." She strained to see past Kirk to where McCoy was already grabbing his medikit.

A shocking sight awaited them in the main cargo hold. Nyreea, her head in Blackstone's lap, was drenched in blood – amethyst-coloured Beltan blood, soaking through her tunic from neck to waist, spreading out on the floor like spilt wine. Kirk's immediate impression was that she must be dead already – no one could lose that amount of blood and live - but he was wrong.

"What happened here?" McCoy's voice, urgent, in control.

"Unsecured cargo." Blackstone was applying pressure to Nyreea's shoulder, the source of the bleed out; the fingers of his other hand flitted around her temples, as though unsure where to settle. His distress was palpable. Kirk knelt at his side as McCoy worked on Nyreea.

"Stephen, are you telepathic?" He asked Blackstone, on a sudden intuition. The young man did not reply immediately, then, as if to deflect further questions, he admitted,

"I have some limited ability. I can sense her pain, her fear." He said. Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances.

"Help her." Kirk said.

"I don't know how."

"Reach into her mind. Give her your strength, reassure her." Blackstone's face contorted with emotion. For a moment his fingers settled around Nyreea's temples in the way that Kirk and McCoy had witnessed Spock's doing when he was establishing a mind link. Then, as though scorched, he withdrew them.

"Help her, dammit." Kirk urged, taking Blackstone by the shoulders and shaking him.

"Jim!" McCoy prised his captain off the young man, "It's too late." Kirk looked at him in confusion. "She's dead, Jim."

McCoy shook his head, "A massive trauma. Nothing could have saved her. Even if I could have kept her alive long enough to transfuse, I'd wager there's no supplies of Beltan – or any other kind of blood – synthetic or otherwise - aboard this ship." He looked around, accusingly, daring anyone to contradict him. No one did.

McCoy laid a comforting hand on Blackstone's shoulder, "It wasn't your fault, son." He said, gently. "It was already too late by the time you found her."

"You need to find out exactly what happened here, Captain." Kirk said, as Weston appeared on the scene.

"A crate fell on her." Nancy said, dully, "It wasn't adequalely secured." Kirk could hardly conceal his disgust. It was an accident that could never have occurred aboard his own ship – aboard any ship with a modicum of regard for the safety of its crew.

Blackstone was visibly shaken. He looked at Weston, dismayed, "Hag and I secured some of these crates. You said you would do the others. I would have done the job myself." Weston looked contrite,

"I was going to do it. It slipped my mind." To his credit, he was visibly distressed. Nancy had tears in her eyes.

"She was so young, so talented." Of them all, McCoy was the angriest,

"How could you put lives at risk like this? This was completely avoidable. Jim, we have to report this."

"There's no need. It will be recorded in the ship's log. I'll take full responsibility" Weston assured him. Kirk turned his back in disgust and walked away, leaving McCoy to help move Nyreea.

"There's something odd about that young man." McCoy said when he and Kirk were alone in their cabin.

"Blackstone? He seems likeable enough." Kirk said, "The telepathy thing is interesting, though. If he's an esper he may have spent some time learning techniques on Vulcan – that would account for his seeming attempt at a mind meld, inept though it turned out to be."

McCoy looked thoughtful. His anger had abated but he still felt saddened at the needless loss of a young life. "Let's get some rest," he said, wondering what their chances were of sleeping through the rest of the night, before some other catastrophe came along.


	11. Chapter 11

Spock rose, chilled to the bone after an uncomfortable night. He had slept little, pain and cold keeping him wakeful and alert, towards dawn he had slipped into a feverish sleep from which he woke groggy, his limbs stiff and heavy. Despite the early hour, he was the last to rise. In the sunlit outdoors beyond the cave's gloomy dankness, there was still precious little warmth. Hunter was coaxing a fire to life and Spock, drawn to the emerging warmth of the nascent flames joined him, nodding in response to the man's cheerful greeting.

"Kort's gone to catch breakfast. For us, I mean. You'll have to make do with these." He handed Spock two large pineapple-like fruits,

"The flesh is nourishing and substantial." Spock accepted the offerings and ate, though his appetite was impaired. Kort returned with a small, limp furry creature dangling bloodily from a loop on his belt. Spock watched as the Klingon skinned the animal expertly and cooked it over the fire. Sensing their discomfort at eating animal flesh in front of him, Spock excused himself.

At a distance from the fire, he was again disagreeably cold. His clothes had dried on the rocks that he had warmed with phaser fire, but he had warmed the rocks once only, mindful of the need to conserve the weapon's energy, and conserving his own body heat was proving to be a constant challenge.

From where he stood, he could hear Kort and Hunter talking together, laughing. Their ease in each other's company reminded him of the way he felt when he was with Kirk and McCoy. He had been wary of both men in the beginning. Kirk had alarmed him with his self-assurance and reckless bravado. It had taken time for Spock to appreciate that his new captain was only ever a danger to himself; never in the time he had known him, had Spock seen Jim risk the lives of his crew.

Almost from the start, Kirk had looked to Spock for support and friendship. The captain and his CMO were already long-standing friends but Kirk seemed to find something in his relationship with his First Officer that was unique and inspiring. For his part, Spock had done nothing to encourage or discourage his captain's interest; he had responded to Kirk's overtures of friendship with polite detachment. After a while, perhaps Kirk's persistence had chipped away at his Vulcan reserve, for Spock found himself gradually welcoming and eventually seeking out Kirk's company.

At first he had told himself that he valued Kirk only as a worthy chess opponent; less predictable and therefore more challenging than the computer. Then, he found himself seeking the captain's opinion on matters relating to work. Finally, he found himself seeking Kirk out even when work was not the only motivation.

This, then was real friendship such as he had never experienced growing up on Vulcan where the human traits he tried so hard to suppress marked him out as different. Certainly, his human half had reached out to Kirk's repeated offers of friendship, but he felt valued aboard the Enterprise as a whole person in a way that he had never done before.

His relationship with McCoy was both simpler and more complex. Kirk's friendship with McCoy being what it was, it was inevitable that the Vulcan and the doctor would be forced to engage with each other. Unlike Kirk though, McCoy was not content to let Spock be. It sometimes seemed that exposing the limitations of Spock's Vulcan half helped McCoy to define what it meant to be human.

Or, maybe it was the physician in him, the urge to heal and make whole what he perceived as a disintegration of the different halves of the Vulcan's psyche that prompted the doctor to persist in goading Spock. His constant prodding and prying into Spock's inner life wearied the Vulcan – perhaps because the doctor made him uncomfortably aware of truths about himself that he had no wish to acknowledge or explore. To outsiders, it was not all that obvious that there was anything other than rancour between them – as Kirk often pointed out, perhaps they were not sure themselves. McCoy had the knack of leaving Spock feeling raw and vulnerable and Spock could exasperate or wound the doctor with a dispassionate stare or a single raised eyebrow. Despite all this, Spock was willing to acknowledge that his life had been enriched through knowing Leonard McCoy.

Spock thought back to the morning they had received the distress call from Skara. Jim had been edgy, uncharacteristically taciturn. He thought of his own clumsy attempt in the turbolift to offer his sympathy, of Jim's dismissive response. The doctor, completely different in his approach, had been similarly spurned. After a year, Jim was still hurting, still angry.

For his part, Spock had compartmentalised his own feelings about the events at Deneva. He had suffered an extremity of pain that made his present discomfort pale in comparison – except that on that occasion he had been able to shield the agony for a time so that he could maintain his Vulcan control. Losing control was what he feared most, becoming less than Vulcan. He had feared it when he stepped out of the light intensive chamber and thought himself blinded, his sense of triumph at finding a way to defeat the deadly parasites down on the planet and within his own body conflicting with his anguish at losing his sight. He feared it now. Whatever was affecting him on this planet was eroding his very sense of self.

With a grim sense of irony, Spock realised that by the time McCoy came to his aid – assuming Jim and McCoy were coming at all – the good doctor might find him all too human. A sudden tremor shook his hand and he held his arm stiffly by his side to steady it.

"Spock!" With a jolt, Spock realised that Hunter was calling him.

"We need to press on. Are you fit to travel?" Spock answered in the affirmative. His foot was throbbing but he managed to cross to where Kort and Hunter were waiting, with only the trace of a limp.

Around midday, they came upon the wreck of the Klingon shuttle. It lay in a clearing caused by its enforced landing. By some miracle it had survived the crash more or less intact. A brief survey inside confirmed that there had been survivors and that they had stripped the shuttle of its provisions before moving on. It was Spock who found the body of the dead Klingon. It lay, abandoned in the forest, flesh torn away in parts by rodents, and, judging by the evidence, some larger mammal, perhaps a sardur.

"Klingons do not always bury their dead." Kort explained, perhaps sensing his companions' revulsion. "The body is disposed of by the most expedient means. In this instance, leaving his remains for the forest creatures to devour. No disrespect was intended."

They passed on, Kort taking the lead in tracking his fellow Klingons. They had not gone far before they discovered three distinct sets of footprints in a stretch of muddy ground. "Two males, one female. One of the males is injured." Kort asserted.

"We have been fortunate." Hunter answered. Spock nodded. At least they would not be outnumbered.

"Kravok!" H'Narth's voice. Kravok struggled out of a dreamless sleep, wincing at the pain in his burning shoulder. He hauled himself to his feet, his arm limp at his side. H'Narth was standing at the cave mouth holding something aloft in front of him but the sun was behind him and Kravok strained to see.

"While you were sleeping I was out hunting." Now Kravok could see that H'Narth held up a small, deer-like creature. He shook the animal and droplets of blood sprinkled from a slit in its neck, over his shoulders. H'Narth laughed, pleased with his kill.

T'Hana joined them and they made a fire and roasted the deer. All three were silent as they tore hungrily at the meat; they had not eaten much since fleeing their ship. Finally, wiping grease from his beard, Kravok asked the others.

"What do you know of our mission?" For a moment H'Narth was silent. Kravok and T'Hana knew that H'Narth had had their Commander's ear. In the chaos following the Enterprise's attack and the catastrophic effects of the storm, H'Narth had been ordered to the shuttle deck. He had been chosen by their captain to escape; it was only because Kravok, T'Hana and Varron had been in the science rooms located near the shuttle deck that they had been saved; H'Narth had needed their help to break through the wreckage obstructing his way to the shuttle bay and had had little choice but to invite them to accompany him. All three had been prepared to die when their ship self-destructed. H'Narth had instructed them that he was acting under orders from their Commander.

"The Commander entrusted me with his orders. He could not desert the ship." H'Narth said. Kravok nodded. To save himself before initialising the ship's self-destruct system would have brought shame and dishonour on the Commander's name.

"I guessed that we were not merely on a mission to gather scientific data on the planet Skara." T'Hana said, "We would not risk being so far into the neutral zone for such a purpose. Even though the planet lies in such a remote location." She was referring to the fact that the system of which Skara was the fourth planet, though just in Federation space, lay far distant from any other inhabited systems in the area.

H'Narth scowled. "Since when was Klingon High Command interested solely in such matters?" Kravok wondered if H'Narth intended to reveal more, but H'Narth did not answer and Kravok did not press him.

Kort signalled to Spock and Hunter that he had news. He had been scouting ahead and had picked up clues that the Klingon survivors were just ahead of them on the trail. When he spotted them, they were resting by a stream, where the injured one was bathing his wound.

For a moment, Kort had watched them with a sense of curiosity and nostalgia, admiring the familiar military uniform with its metallic vest and the black trousers flecked with gold, that he had once thought it his destiny to wear.. They were his people and yet he felt no kinship with them, no sense of comradeship.

"They are three – two males, one female." He informed Spock and Hunter. "One of the men seems badly injured. We could overcome them easily but for their disrupters."

"We have the advantage of surprise." Hunter observed. "Mr Spock?"

"I agree."

Kort led the other two to the spot where he had observed the Klingons. As luck would have it, they were apart, the injured one still sitting where Kort had seen him, by the stream, the others standing some distance from him; they seemed to be searching through their packs. Spock, slower than the others because of his injury, crept up on the injured man, positioning himself behind him without being detected. Using the Vulcan neck pinch he immobilised the unsuspecting Klingon and deftly removed his disrupter from his belt.

Immediately, Kort and Hunter closed in on the other two, Kort slipping an arm around the man's neck and reaching for the startled Klingon's disrupter with the other. It was over in moments, the Klingon, felled by a swift knifehand strike to the back of his neck, had no chance to resist. Meanwhile Hunter grappled with the Klingon woman, first kicking her disrupter from her belt, then disabling her by grabbing her from behind and twisting her arm. T'Sorf, who had been warned to stay clear, ran forward and grabbed the woman's weapon.

H'Narth was the first to recover. His hands and feet had been bound and he glared at his captors in fury as he realised that he was helpless. Kravok lay near him, similarly bound. Looking Kort in the face, H'Narth spat, saying, "traitorous dog." Kort bowed low, "After so long in the company of humans, I begin to understand why they regard the Klingon race as one singularly lacking in good manners. My name is Kort. My companions are Mark Hunter and Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Starship Enterprise. And this is my son, T'Sorf."

"I know who you are." H'Narth growled at Kort, but he was looking at Spock. Spock bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. H'Narth spat again.

Kravok groaned and stirred. "H'Narth?" he said, clearly disoriented. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. "Where is T'Hana?" he asked.

"She is unharmed." Spock answered.

Kort introduced himself and the others as he had done with H'Narth. Kravok nodded, "I am Kravok." He said, politely, with no hint of H'Narth's aggression. Spock regarded him with curiosity. Kravok seemed unlike the Klingons he had encountered previously, Kort excepted.

"State your intentions towards us." H'Narth said.

"You will remain on Skara with us until Mr Spock's Captain returns. You will then become the responsibility of the Federation."

"Captain Kirk and his miserable crew are dead." H'Narth snarled. Spock stiffened at his words.

"We do not know that H'Narth." Kravok said, quietly. H'Narth looked at his crewmate in disgust.

"Why did your ship come here?" Spock asked. H'Narth looked at Spock with loathing. He would die, Spock knew, rather than answer such a question. Kort pointed out that Skara lay well within Federation space.

H'Narth made a gutteral sound in his throat and spat again.

"That is an uncouth habit. You will refrain from doing it again or I will be obliged to gag you." Kort said. Spock was staring at Kravok. He was fighting an urge to sink to his knees, place his fingers on the Klingon's temples and force a mind meld, so urgent was his need to learn of the Enterprise's fate. He was ashamed of his urge – a forced meld was abhorrent to him and under normal circumstances the idea would not enter his head. He walked away, putting distance between himself and temptation.

The truth was, H'Narth's words had struck him with the force of a physical blow. Spock was shocked to discover that he was trembling. Not since he had believed himself to be the instrument of his Captain's death on Vulcan had he felt such abject misery.

"Spock!" Hunter was beckoning him back to the gathering. The captured Klingons, hands bound behind their backs were on their feet. Spock nodded, joining them. Hunter looked Spock up and down as he spoke but he did not comment on his condition, which Spock knew must look as grim as he felt it to be.

"What now?"

"I suggest that we make our way to the site of the Curie shuttle. If a search party does arrive, they will look there first." Spock did not admit that he had no idea in which direction the shuttle lay. He had not regained his bearings since being returned to the planet after the failed attempt at beam up. Hunter looked at a point in the far distance. "It is three to four days trek in that direction." He pointed, then looked at the Vulcan dubiously. Spock had the impression that his physical condition was being appraised.

"Mr Hunter, I assure you that I am quite capable of making such a journey." Hunter gave him one of those looks that Jim Kirk often gave him when he disagreed with his First Officer but knew better than to argue.

For what seemed like hours they made their way through dense forest. Spock was not accustomed to losing track of time, but on this world his internal clock did not function and he relied on the darkening of the sky to tell him when day was giving way to night. All five of Skara's moons were high in the sky when they made camp for the night.

"Rest awhile, friend." Hunter said to Spock, placing a hand on his shoulder. The sudden physical contact caused Spock to flinch. "Forgive me." Hunter apologised, "I forget you are a touch telepath."

"My shielding mechanisms are – compromised." Spock said.

"I'll take the first watch." Kort said. Spock volunteered for the second, assuring both Kort and Hunter that he would, in all likelihood, be awake anyway.

"Here." Kort said, throwing Spock one of the Klingon blankets, "Take this." Spock hesitated, but only for an instant; he had been cold all day despite his exertions and it was not logical to refuse a means of preserving some body heat.

Kort woke him after a couple of hours, from a troubled sleep. Spock started when the Klingon shook him gently. He was aware of Kort looking at him as he settled himself into an upright position, the better to stay awake. "Your captain and McCoy – is that right?" he asked, faltering on the doctor's name, "They are your friends as well as your shipmates, are they not?" Spock nodded, cautiously. He was aware that his sleep had been disturbed by visions of Kirk and McCoy and the fate of the Enterprise on the day of the ion storm. Had he been talking aloud? There was no other explanation for Kort's question.

"That is good. Every man should have friends." The Klingon asserted before pulling his blanket over his head and succumbing instantly to sleep.

Spock rubbed his numbed hands and feet, considering whether to use his phaser to warm a rock. Now that the Klingons had been captured, they were in no immediate danger. As he stared at the sleeping captives, Spock considered the impracticalities of their situation – a balance of captives and captors. It quickly became clear to him that this was untenable. Logic dictated that whilst they remained on Skara, they would fare better if they suspended their hostilities and worked together. He glanced at the disrupter fixed in his belt beside his phaser and wondered if he could suspend his own fears about the Klingons enough to entrust them with their weapons. Kravok perhaps – and the female who was, like him, not overtly hostile – but H'Narth?

He would put it to the others in the morning. Strange that they had never discussed what they would do when they encountered the survivors of the Klingon wreck. They had not expected to come into contact with them so soon. Under normal circumstances, Spock would have been evaluating all the possibilities, but he was acutely aware that he was not himself. Anxiety about the Klingons' proximity screamed at him from behind his fragile mental screening, threatening to break through. He was exhausted with the effort of maintaining control and because of this, his wounds were stubbornly refusing to heal. Worse, he was experiencing tremors and it was clear that something in his Vulcan make up was reacting unfavourably with the Skarans' toxin. A memory of McCoy decrying Spock's green blood popped unbidden into his mind. The doctor knew better than anyone the subtle nature of the differences between the Vulcan's hybrid blood and the pure human or Vulcan strain. What was relatively harmless to one or either of them could prove fatal to Spock. Without any equipment, Spock had no means of analysing his risk, no way of knowing the actual or potential danger.

The Vulcan's lips tightened into a thin line, a signal to those who knew him well, that he was troubled. Physical discomfort he could cope with, but this slow, insidious eroding of his mental stability was disquieting, unnerving. Spock rubbed his numb limbs, encouraging circulation, and sighed impatiently. The constant cold irritated him more than it should; he felt an irrational antipathy toward the Skarran climate and checked himself, deliberately readjusting the train of his thoughts. How many times had he pointed out the illogicality of complaining about the weather, to Dr McCoy? How did humans live with their undisciplined thought processes?

And yet, the two men he admired most were not ruled by the principles of logic and control. He had seen Leonard McCoy, the most emotionally mercurial individual of his acquaintance, transformed in an instant into a man of science, his mind sharpened and focused, brilliant in his field. And Jim, who blew hot and cold but seldom failed to find the solution that defied plausibility. Had he not even created his own, unique solution to the allegedly irresolvable Kobarashi Maru? The more time he spent with these men, the more Spock was required to re-evaluate his own certainties. Was that in itself a bad thing? The Vulcan way of being was never intended to be static, inflexible. Such a philosophy would quickly outlive its usefulness.

In the half-light before dawn, with Skara's moons fading to a trace in the reddening sky, Spock became conscious suddenly of a presence nearby, the same that he had felt on his first morning on Skara before they found the crashed shuttle. Reluctant to wake the others, he stood up and turned slowly in a circle, surveying the immediate area. In the pale dawn light everything was hushed, still.

On a sudden impulse, Spock sent out a tentative question with his thoughts, "Who are you?" He opened his mind to contact. The response was immediate, a whisper that might have arisen from his own mind except that Spock recognised the familiar probing? of a skilled telepath. Skilled, yet gentle, respectful. Spock felt no sense of intrusion, no attempt at breaching the barrier of privacy that he had erected to protect his innermost thoughts.

"Take care, Spock. They come." The whisper cautioned and, as suddenly as it had arrived, the presence withdrew, leaving Spock in a heightened state of alert. His hearing was keen, but he heard no sound. Unsure again, whether what he had just experienced had arisen from his own anxiey, he nevertheless woke Kort and Hunter, putting a finger to his lips to ask them to be silent and listen. Kort moved quick as a cat, to a tree and shinned up its trunk, agile despite his heavy Klingon frame. From his vantage point he scanned the area closely before sliding back down speedily, skinning his palms on the jagged bark.

"A group of Skarran hunters!" He said, "About half a mile away. They're heading in our direction. I suggest we rouse our guests and make a hasty retreat."

"Your hearing is acute indeed, friend." Hunter said, hastily covering evidence of their camp.

The Klingons had roused now and immediately picked up on the sense of urgency to move on. H'Narth rose to his feet slowly, helped by T'Hana. Kravok was alert, watchful. Kort had bound their hands and feet the night before and now he untied the bindings around their feet. "There are Skarrans nearby." He said, "Trust me, you do not wish to meet them."

"I would rather keep company with them than with a traitorous dog!" Kort rolled his eyes, weary of H'Narth's predictability.

"Technically he is not a traitor." Spock said, "He has merely chosen a different path from that of his peers."

"What would you know, Vulcan half-breed?" Spock felt a prick of irritation at the familiar insult. It was a favourite of Dr McCoy's when he was particularly riled by Spock's behaviour. Irritation was not the word for it. Spock felt a surge of murderous anger that nearly caused him to strike H'Narth. The poison in his blood was making him more susceptible to primitive emotion. He would need to be on his guard.

"They will track us easily if that is their intent." Hunter observed. "Kort and I have managed to keep out of their way but we have had one or two encounters. It doesn't help that they are constantly on the move, hunting and gathering, but at least their numbers seem small. We are fortunate that your ears are sharp." Hunter said.

Spock said nothing of the warning that he had received. He could not be sure of its origin in his present condition, but he was becoming convinced that the hairy Skarran natives were not the only inhabitants of this planet. The telepath's contact had been benign enough, but Spock had no knowledge of its true intent. His experience on previous missions had taught him that things were not always what they seemed. And, besides, Spock was not a man who indulged in speculation without the facts.

"I do not trust H'Narth." Kort asserted, hours later when they stopped to rest. "Kravok is injured – he is also, I sense, of a different nature to H'Narth."

"What of the female?" Hunter asked, "Have you noticed the way she looks at Kravok, how protective they seem of each other? Is there something going on there, Kort?" Kort smiled,

"I suspect they would like something to be going on."

Spock was puzzled. He was uncomfortably aware of his own prejudice in assuming that all Klingons were of a like persuasion. He expressed his thoughts to Kort. "Think of your encounters with members of the Klingon race, Mr Spock. You could be forgiven for thinking that all Klingons are alike. Unfortunately the ambassadors for our race with whom you clash on other worlds, or meet in battle, are all of a type. But there are other types of Klingons. They too are warriors, but to them the code of honour has a different meaning."

Spock understood what Kort was saying, but the memory of his innermost thoughts spilling through the evil filter of the mind-sifter was hard to dislodge, linked as it was with the grinning face of his Klingon tormentor as he turned his instrument of torture slowly to the highest setting.

"You alright, Spock? You're looking kinda greener than usual." Hunter said.

"Quite alright, Mr Hunter." Then, all three turned to the Klingon captives, who had been speaking among themselves. Now their voices were raised in anger.

H'Narth said, "I warned the captain against bringing you aboard." He spat, "Scientists! Treacherous dogs one and all." Spock looked at Kort, questioningly and Kort translated.

"If the captain brought Kravok and T'Hana to Skara against H'Narth's counsel, could it be that their scientific knowledge is required for some purpose here? I would be interested to learn their areas of scientific expertise."

"I order you to remain silent." H'Narth said to Kravok and T'Hana, overhearing the Vulcan.

"You have no authority over us, H'Narth." T'Hana's response was quick, scornful, "You do not outrank us on this planet." H'Narth glared at her in disbelief,

"You would choose them over one of your own kind?"

"You do not even choose to reveal the real nature of our mission here."

"I would die before revealing it to traitors and humans." T'Hana seemed enraged. She flew at H'Narth and Kravok stepped forward to restrain her. With her hands bound behind her back, there was little she could have done.

"Do not waste your energy." Kravok said. T'Hana glared at him as though she would attack him too, then she backed down. Spock and the others watched in surprise.

"What are your plans for us?" Kravok asked turning to face them.

"As I said earlier, Mr Spock's captain is returning to Skara. He will decide your fate." Hunter said, quietly, looking to Spock, who nodded soberly. H'Narth swore in Klingon and looked about to spit when a glare from Kort made him think again. "A Klingon ship will also be coming to Skara. We will see who arrives first and how our fates will be decided." He said, mockingly.

"All our fates will be decided by the Skarrans if we do not make haste." Spock said, with a sense of urgency. We must move on."

Sometime before noon, their trek brought them to a wide, unfamiliar expanse of river, "We have wandered off course, somewhat." Spock said, bewildered. He was aware of the effect the Skarran poison was having on his mind and the effort at controlling it meant that his other mental faculties were being compromised; on this world he felt dislocated, severed from his usual precision in judging time and place.

"Father!" T'Sorf pointed at a small craft run aground by the side of the river.

"Looks big enough to take us all." Hunter said, smiling at Spock, "Let's navigate by river for a while. This endless forest is disorienting."

It was little more than a canoe scooped out of a huge tree trunk but it was fit for purpose, with paddles of sorts; Kort unbound H'Narth's hands and handed him a paddle taking the other himself.

After an hour, the river narrowed slightly and their small boat was pulled into its centre despite the best efforts of the rowers to stay close to the bank. Spock, who had been scanning the banks on either side, suddenly sat upright, "Over there!" he pointed. Another canoe had appeared, seemingly from nowhere and was approaching fast.

"Skarrans" Kravok cried, straining backwards to see.

"Affirmative! Get down!" A shower of arrows soared over their heads. No sooner had they ducked than another shower assailed them - this time the boat was pierced by hard, sharpened arrowheads and water began to flood into the canoe. T'Hana and Spock began a frantic attempt to plug the holes and bail them out as H'Narth and Kort continued to row, pointing the canoe at the opposite bank, fighting the incessant centrewards pull of the now fast-flowing current.

"It's no good!" T'Hana cried in alarm, "We're sinking!" Spock felt the chill of cold water around his ankles. He looked back at the Skarran craft – it was not gaining on them as fast as before, the current having changed again, must be working against them also, dragging them back towards the opposite bank. Even in his present danger, Spock found himself contemplating the forces at work beneath the surface of the water.

"We're going to have to swim for it." Hunter's voice. The canoe was listing dangerously, filling up with water. Quickly, he leaned forwards and cut H'Narth, Kravok and T'Hana's bonds. A moment later, they were catapulted into the river as the boat capsized.

Spock gasped at the coldness. He was not an experienced, or a strong swimmer. Few Vulcans took to the water with enthusiasm, disliking the wet and the cold. For several moments he floundered ineffectually, then, he went under, water closing over him, tugging him down. Spluttering and filled with an unfamiliar sense of panic, Spock struggled to keep his head above water. He saw the others making strong strokes shorewards before going under for a second time. This time, his Vulcan shields came crashing down with him, fear and water engulfing him. He thought of Jim, always a confident swimmer, ploughing with ease up and down the pool on the Enterprise's recreation deck, entreating Spock to join him.

The memory was strangely comforting, then overwhelmingly sad as he realised it would be his last vision of his friend. So much he had never said. Then, suddenly, his head was above water again, his voice yelling, "Jim!" Then, he was under again.

"Jim." He said again, in his mind as he felt the heaviness in his limbs, the terrible weight of water pulling him down, down, down into its depths. Too exhausted now to fight, Spock stopped struggling. He was calm now and very tired and the water was no longer cold, but all enveloping, comforting almost, and it was logical to drown quickly instead of struggling against the inevitable.

Then, suddenly, he felt hands gripping him firmly under the arms and he had the sensation of being pulled upwards. In a moment he was thrashing and spluttering in the current again, his head above water, his lungs burning for air.

"Keep still dammit, you crazy Vulcan or you'll drown us both."

"Jim?" Spock said, confused.

"Hunter. Why in god's name didn't you say you couldn't swim?" Spock suspected this was a rhetorical question and in any case, he lacked the energy to reply. He willed himself to stillness and allowed Hunter to slip an arm around him and swim with him. A few moments later, he felt another arm around him and he realised that Kravok too had joined in the rescue.

Hunter and Kravok assisted Spock ashore, then all three collapsed on the sandy riverbank, where they lay for long moments, spent. Then, gasping, Hunter hauled himself to his feet, "Kort! T'Sorf!" he yelled, scanning the river and the short stretch of yellow-sanded riverbank that ended less then twenty feet away in a tangle of trees reaching to the water's edge.

T'Hana had reached the sandy bank and lay, recovering a short distance from Spock and his rescuers. "Where are the others?" Hunter cried, running to her, his feet dragging in the wet sand.

"They were carried farther downriver by the current. The boy was in trouble, but I saw his father assist him." Hunter looked at the fast-flowing water. It had taken all his strength to swim ashore; without Kravok's help he might not have brought the Vulcan ashore at all. Kort was strong, but T'Sorf was still a boy and Hunter had no idea if he could swim "What of H'Narth?" Kravok asked.

"He was near them in the water." T'Hana answered. Shivering, she added,

"They could be miles downriver." Hunter stood up and extended a hand to Spock, asking,

"Can you walk, friend?" Spock nodded, hesitantly accepting Hunter's hand. In the water, with Kravok and Hunter both assisting him, something of their emotions had been communicated to him through their touch. A mixture of alarm and response to danger, adrenalin and anxiety. Now, safe on the shore, Hunter's touch conveyed an impression of warmth, compassion, concern, that was vaguely familiar. Spock remembered suddenly where he had experienced this mixture before and an image of the Enterprise's CMO leaning over him in sickbay flashed in his mind. As he steadied himself, standing alone, Spock released his grip on Hunter and the sudden withdrawal of the man's emotional support made him gasp, as though it had somehow been as necessary as Hunter's physical assistance.

"We will find them." He said, meeting Hunter's eye and holding his gaze just long enough to communicate that he understood Hunter's fear.

Hunter nodded, his eyes scanning the river again as if in some insane hope that his friend and his son would miraculously emerge unharmed from its swirling depths.


	12. Chapter 12

"Jim!" McCoy's voice called to Kirk in his dreams. The Enterprise was under attack, its captain was barking out orders and his crew had no idea how to respond. Sulu was staring at his controls with his hands in the air as if trying to work out how to operate the navigation console; Bones was treating a crewman spouting arterial blood, with a sticking plaster, even Spock was gazing across at him from his science station with a vacant expression.

"Jim. Wake up!"

"Bones? Can't a person get some sleep around here?"

"You were dreaming, Jim." Kirk nodded, fully awake now.

"I was dreaming the Enterprise was run by idiots, like the Aurora. Captain excepted, of course." Bones smiled,

"Of course. " McCoy was worried that Kirk might blow their cover completely – a doctor was just a doctor but for Jim to come out as a Starship captain was not a good idea. And Jim was itching to take control of the Aurora. Foremost on his Captain's mind, McCoy knew was the Shadow, still on their tail, keeping its distance. What would Kirk do if he were in command? Jim could be impulsive, daring, but he was never rash – above all, McCoy had never known him to act in a way that would endanger the lives of his crew. He was, of course, excluding his Captain's recent attack on his helmsman, which had occurred under the influence of the Skarran toxin.

"I wonder how Spock's holding up? The doctor said, suddenly. It was a question never far from either man's thoughts. "In the absence of any experience of this toxin, I can't even begin to speculate about what course it will take in the Vulcan system."

"Now you're sounding like him."

"I'm a scientist too, Jim. I don't like mysteries."

"Spock's been resilient to things we've succumbed to in the past," Kirk said, sounding a positive, then spoiling it, "Then there's the possibility that he might be more susceptible – especially as a hybrid."

"Don't think I haven't considered that among all the other possibilities." McCoy answered, irritably.

"I've been thinking about Spock's 'feeling' that we were being observed." Kirk said, thoughtfully. This was not new ground.

"Spock's a touch telepath, Jim, but we know that he's an esper, too. He can sense things beyond our capacity to pick up on."

"Yes, and – as an esper, he'd be sending out signals, consciously or not, for a another telepath to pick up." Kirk did not need to be psychic to feel his CMO's scepticism.

"Psychic abilities are as natural to some species in the galaxy as they are unnatural to humans. We've seen this time and again in the past few years. It's not that I doubt the existence of telepathy or psychic phenomenon – hell, I've had that damn Vulcan messing around inside my head, remember? It's just that I'm more comfortable with what I can see and touch. Besides, those hairy Skarrans don't seem likely candidates for telepathy"

"Those hairy Skarrans may not be the only intelligent life forms on the planet." Said Kik. "What is it, Bones?" he asked, registering McCoy's look of concern.

"The effect of the toxin will be hard enough for him to deal with – if it's a hostile being making contact, he'll be more vulnerable."

"He can shield the effects." Kirk said, confidently, "He withstood the mind-sifter. No human could have survived that with their sanity intact."

"I'm not an expert, but I'd say a lot depends on what sort of shape he's in physically. Shielding pain and the intrusive thoughts of others is a learned response in Vulcans. It's not innate and it certainly isn't foolproof." McCoy's tone was cool. Sometimes Jim's faith in Spock's indestructibility irked the medic. Too many times McCoy had had cause to see just how vulnerable the Vulcan was under the skin.

Regarding the mind-sifter, McCoy made no further comment. He was thinking of the time, two weeks after his ordeal on Organia, when Spock had come to sickbay in the dead hours of the night, asking for his help. McCoy had heard the doors to his office swish open but had glanced up only fleetingly, from his computer screen. In the dimmed light, he had registered the Vulcan's familiar silhouette and felt mild surprise, "Hello, Spock. What brings you to my neck of the woods at this ungodly hour? Couldn't sleep?" He asked, without looking up.

"Dr McCoy…I…" Spock never finished his sentence.

"Spock?" McCoy looked up in time to see the Vulcan slump back against the wall, his face contorted in pain, only to crash land seconds later on the floor. McCoy leapt from his chair to Spock's side in a single movement.

"What is it, Spock? What's wrong?"

"I need your help." Spock stuttered, "Can…not shield." McCoy grabbed a mediscanner from his desk drawer and ran it over the Vulcan. He was alarmed at the results, "Spock, your vitals are spiking and you're displaying symptoms of extreme stress. I need to get you on a biobed straightaway." McCoy punched the intercom and yelled for help, but before anyone could arrive, Spock had gripped the CMO's arm, saying,

"It is the mindsifter. The Captain must not know." McCoy was shocked, both at the physical contact initiated by the Vulcan, and by the request.

"Spock, the Captain has to know if his First Officer is unfit for duty."

"Tell him I am sick. I came to you in confidence." Spock's eyes were as close to pleading as the doctor had ever seen them. Reluctantly, McCoy agreed,

"Okay, Spock. You have my word – for now." McCoy had never broken his word. From the First Officer he learned that the only way for Spock to be helped was for a skilled Vulcan healer to establish a mind link with him and work with him to block the deleterious effects of the mind-sifter. There was one big problem with that; the Enterprise was nowhere near Vulcan.

Fortunately for Spock, they were not too far distant from Lorimus II, a Federation colonised planet with a scientific research centre specialising in medical research. Not just one, but two Vulcan healers were stationed there. All McCoy had to do was persuade his Captain that Spock was suffering from a severe recurring bout of a parasitic infection that he had contracted on Vulcan as a child, and that his condition, which was critical, required specialist care from a Vulcan healer.

The detour to Lorimus II was in the bag the second the alarmed Captain set eyes on his heavily sedated and obviously afflicted First Officer. After all, hadn't Jim once defied a direct order from Starfleet Command, to save Spock's life? By contrast, the slight detour to Lorimus II required only a perfunctory mention in the Ship's log. McCoy had been puzzled at Spock's insistence that the real reason for the stopover at Lorimus II be kept from the Captain, but in time he had figured it out. Spock knew that the Captain needed to be able to count on his First Officer, to the point where Jim almost needed to believe that Spock was invulnerable, for Jim could no more afford to contemplate Spock's mortality than he could his own. For Kirk to be the best that he could be in command, Spock had to be by his side, and Kirk needed to believe that nothing could threaten that dynamic – to believe otherwise would be at best a distraction, at worst, catastrophic. More than that, Spock knew that were Kirk to be made aware of what the mind-sifter had cost the Vulcan, he would never forgive himself for failing to protect his First Officer, for not having been the who had endured its torture.

McCoy had been uniquely placed to observe the way the relationship between these two men, on the face of it so different, had established itself over the past few years. For his own part, McCoy had long been Jim's friend and confidante – the one the Captain came to when he needed reassurance or advice, or to let off steam, or to share a good bottle of bourbon and an easy conversation. There was warmth in their relationship, genuine affection.

A lesser man might have felt threatened by Kirk's fascination with his seemingly unapproachable Vulcan First Officer, but McCoy had never felt any sense of rivalry with Spock. Truth to tell, it had been fascinating for him to watch these two essentially lonely characters connect. Now, he thought, all three of them were connected in so many ways – by their respect and liking for each other – by the experiences they had shared since their mission began – by…

"McCoy?" The doctor started. He dragged himself from the past to focus on his Captain. "We're going to get there in time, Bones." Kirk reassured him.

"He can't allow himself to look into the abyss." McCoy thought. "Spock understands that. I should be reassuring him." But when he responded, the best McCoy could muster was an unconvincing, "I hope you're right, Jim."

Another day passed, the Shadow remaining an ever-present threat. Kirk had stayed on the Aurora's bridge long enough to satisfy himself that it was keeping its distance. In another day, they would reach the outermost edges of the Menges Belt, where the size and maze-like structure of the asteroid clusters would offer less protection. Kirk was considering the options, but another matter was also occupying his thoughts.

"I spoke with Blackstone yesterday. He told me that the Westons, Hag and Nyreea have been together for a long time but that their extra hands are normally only with them for a couple of months. One or two expeditions tops. Then there's us. By his own admission, Weston never takes passengers."

"He did it as a favour for Diana King." McCoy reminded him. Kirk smiled.

"How big would he have to owe her to break his own rule?"

"Hell, I don't know, Jim. Maybe they had a fling and he didn't want Nancy to find out."

"Oh, they had a fling alright. I don't doubt that for a minute, but that's not what I had in mind."

"What are you thinking, Jim? The Westons are transporting illegal goods? They hardly seem the type. And I can't see Diana being involved in something so undignified as blackmail. Besides, what if they are making a bit on the side carrying illegal cargo? It's hardly a matter for us to become involved with."

"Depends what they're transporting." Kirk pointed out, "And for whom."

"If you're suggesting the Westons are running arms for the Klingons, I'd have to certify you completely crazy, Jim. Incompetent they may be, but that doesn't make them villains." McCoy said, watching Kirk pace the room. He sighed, "Something tells me I'm not going to like what you're about to say next."

"Like it or not, Bones, we need to know what, if anything, the Westons are transporting." McCoy sighed deeply, "What do you need me to do?" Kirk patted his CMO on the shoulder.

"I'm going to need you to create a diversion."

Odd, how he felt so out of place on the Aurora's bridge when he felt so at ease on the bridge of the Enterprise. McCoy looked around hoping to catch Weston's eye, but the Aurora's skipper was engaged in a conversation with Hag and their voices lowered noticeably as the medic approached, then stopped abruptly as he drew within hearing range. "What can I do for you, Dr McKay?" Weston asked.

"Well," began McCoy, hesitantly. Hell, if he was going to lie, he had to sound more convincing, "I was wonderin' if either of you gentlemen would be interested in a good ol'-fashioned game of poker." His best Southern drawl worked wonders with the ladies, but how it would go down with Weston and his surly navigator, he could only guess. "You see, I'm mighty partial to the game myself and it would seem a shame to drink that ol' bottle of bourbon I've got tucked up in my cabin, alone."

Weston looked interested, but Hag's expression remained neutral. "See, my travellin' companion, Mr Hopkirk – he's a good friend, but he's not really a gambling man and as for bourbon – well between you and me, he's a man who can't hold his liquor."

"Count me in." Weston said. "And Nancy – but I warn you, doctor, we're formidable players."

"And you, Mr Hag? You in?" Hag looked at Weston, who nodded.

"Stephen's on duty this evening – we're monitoring the Shadow. How does nine o'clock suit you? My quarters."

"That suits me fine, Captain Weston. Make sure you've got three of your best whisky glasses ready."

"Nine o'clock." Weston reminded McCoy as the medic turned to leave.

A game of poker to keep everyone distracted while he searched the lower decks had been Kirk's idea. No matter that the captain was the better player of the two, it fell to McCoy to occupy Hag and the Westons so that Jim could have free rein to check out the Aurora's cargo. The ship's security system was pretty basic and Jim was confident that he could disable it without being detected. All the same, he felt a little uneasy to be prowling around the lower decks of an unfamiliar ship and he was not about to waste a moment of the time that was at his disposal.

Lucky the Aurora was a small vessel. Most of its cargo was stored in crates in a sizeable holding area; Kirk moved between the crates, choosing one or two at random to check. He had come prepared with an assortment of tools to prise open lids and break locks but for the most part he hardly needed them, the crates being shut securely but not locked. Their contents were singularly uninteresting – engine components for the most part, as far as Jim could tell, that only Scotty might find exciting.

Feeling frustrated, Kirk looked around. Two doors led off the main storage area – perhaps they might yield more interesting results. The first was unlocked and held more crates. Kirk stepped inside and immediately noted the drop in temperature - whatever was being stored in here must require refrigeration. It did not take him long to realise that he had stumbled on the ship's store of fresh food – he remembered Weston boasting that his crew ate mostly freshly prepared food – no replicated rubbish.

The second room was sealed and a sign on the door read, "Authorised Personnel Only." This had to be it. Kirk fingered the phaser that he had kept concealed in his cabin. No one had even bothered to search him or McCoy for weapons, when they boarded, another staggering breach of security protocol. Using it was risky, but how else to force the seal? Kirk set his phaser and aimed it at the door. In a moment, he was stepping inside warily, watching his back. Soft blue light activated by a sensor lit the room with an eerie glow. Bare shelves lined the walls. The deck was clear. Kirk frowned. There was nothing here. He had blasted the door and risked detection for nothing.

Reluctantly and unable to believe that a sealed room contained no secrets, Jim returned to the main cargo hold. Did he have to open every crate? He would be there until morning. With a sigh and hoping that Bones was holding his own in the poker game, he turned to the task.

As it turned out, he had to look no farther than the next crate. Why hadn't he noticed before? It was the oldest trick in the book and he'd missed it. Kirk lifted out the engine parts that accounted for only half of the crate's volume to reveal, under the lid to the false bottom, the Weston's other, secret cargo. And it wasn't what he had been expecting.

McCoy staggered into their quarters at two in the morning clutching an empty bourbon bottle. "Two hundred credits." He muttered. "I lost two hundred credits and I'm going to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. I hope you found what you were looking for." He never heard Kirk's answer. Jim knew better than to rouse his CMO from a drunken sleep and he settled back on his own bunk, considering his options.

With any luck, the damage his phaser had inflicted on the storeroom would not be detected immediately – why check on an empty room? What was troubling Jim the most was the implication that Diana was involved in the Weston's dishonest trade. By turning a blind eye to the Weston's activities in return for favours – Kirk was convinced that his and McCoy's passage to Skara was not the first favour that she had demanded – she was engaging in blackmail and implicating herself in their crime. Why would she take such a risk for what seemed a small return? It didn't make any sense. Unless Diana was also taking a share of the profits. That she had an unscrupulous nature, Kirk had suspected from his academy days, but to discover that she might involved in something illegal still came as a surprise.

Sleep was elusive. Searching the Aurora's hold had been a momentary distraction; the Shadow plagued Jim's thoughts. Kirk wanted, needed, to act. This enforced inertia was contrary to his nature. He was not the reflective type. He was used to thinking on his feet, being proactive, asserting himself, trusting his instincts and acting on them. Unlike Spock. Inevitably his thoughts turned to his Vulcan First Officer.

Spock rarely acted without thinking, weighing up the consequences, applying logical analyses of every possibility. Fortunately he did all this in the time it took most people to form a single thought and he was always ready with advice for Kirk, right when he needed it. How many times had Kirk, in a vital moment on the bridge, pumped up with adrenalin and ready to act, looked across at Spock's station to see his First Officer, calm, composed, ready to temper Kirk's gut reaction with his cool logic? How many times had he stepped back and rethought a strategy after a single word or look from Spock? True, Jim did not always take Spock's advice; but he relied on his contribution, needed it to counterbalance his own take on things; trusted it.

Where was Spock now? Jim looked over at McCoy snoring none too softly on his bunk. He knew that the doctor thought him hard on the Vulcan at times, insisting on him being there even when Spock was unfit. Like at Deneva.

Never far from his thoughts over the past year, the nightmare of Deneva still disturbed both Kirk's dreams and his waking thoughts. He had lost Sam and Aurelan and watched, helpless, as his nephew, heavily sedated, fought for his life. McCoy had urged him not to send Spock back down to the planet's surface, but as the commanding officer, Kirk could not afford the luxury of compassion. Spock had turned everything on its head by convincing the doctor that the kindest course of action was to let him go – admitting that he could not control the pain for much longer. Looking at the Vulcan, seeing the muscles in his face twitch as he fought to maintain control, it felt like they were doing him a favour. It was the only time Kirk could think of when Spock had come close to an admission of vulnerability and it had shocked the captain to the core, but like Spock, he had striven to stay in control, had behaved as a captain should.

With a jolt, Kirk realised that what he feared now was the loss of another brother, for that was how he had come to think of the Vulcan. He had known all along, without really analysing the nuts and bolts of it, that the pain of Sam's death had been bearable because Spock was still there, at his side. The question that Jim would never allow himself to ask, was, how would he have coped if it had been Spock instead of Sam? There were some places Kirk would not permit himself to go.

He looked over at McCoy again. The medic had shifted his position and was lying straddled across his bunk, one leg dangling over the side – if he moved again it would be onto the floor. With a sigh, Kirk manoeuvred his friend into a safer position and was rewarded with a groan; then McCoy, still asleep, looked directly at him and asked, "Spock, is that you. Are you hurt?" Jim smiled. Same old Bones. Thinking of others, even in his sleep. "I know, Bones." Jim said, quietly, "I'm worried about him too."

McCoy whistled softly. "That's some cargo, Jim. I may have underestimated the Westons' capacity for villainy." Kirk nodded. McCoy winced as he spoke; if only he had refused Weston's Saurian brandy when the bourbon ran out. Jim shaking him awake had not helped his hangover, but the hypo he had just prepared would do the trick. He ignored Jim's disapproving look as he pressed it home. "Extenuating circumstances. I need to be fully alert." He said by way of apology.

"That will be my excuse next time you refuse me a quick cure for a hangover." Kirk remarked, wryly. McCoy nodded. He understood his Captain and his need to be 'busy.' He had not expected Jim to find anything sinister concealed in the crates in the Aurora's hold, but he did understand Kirk's need to go looking.

McCoy looked at Jim with concern. Like Jim, he was of the opinion that Weston would not offer much resistance to the Shadow's crew, but he was less sure of his own captain – passivity wasn't Jim's nature. Then again, he knew that Jim's interests were conflicted – balanced against the urge to act was the necessity of ensuring that nothing jeopardised the success of their present mission. And McCoy also knew where Jim's priorities lay – still, if Kirk could find a way to have his cake and eat it…They were interrupted by a loud rapping on the door.

"Hopkirk!" The panic in Weston's voice was evident despite his obvious attempt at concealing it. Kirk leapt to his feet, guiltily. "What is it, Weston?"

"It's the Shadow. She's closing in again. I'd…" he paused, "I'd appreciate your advice since you seem to be a man who knows what he's about." McCoy suppressed a smile. Weston seemed oblivious to the criticism of his own abilities inherent in his statement. McCoy looked at kirk, already pumped up with adrenalin, and sighed. Guess he hadn't signed up with Starfleet for a quiet life.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Kort!"

The Klingon lay in a heap ahead of them. As they drew near they could see blood oozing from a cut on the side of his head. Hunter had spotted him first, was by his side in moments.

"You're injured! Where's T'Sorf?" Kort looked confused. He spoke slowly, as if struggling to remember.

"We made it ashore. T'Sorf was exhausted, nothing more… H'Narth was waiting for us… We fought… He struck me on the head with a rock."

"He took T'Sorf with him?" Hunter asked, sparing his friend the agony of saying the words. Kort nodded. "And my weapons."

"They can't be far ahead. We'll get him back Kort, I promise you." Kort's head was in his hands. "He dragged T'Sorf back into the river with him. The current could have carried them for miles by now."

For two hours, they followed the line of the river, beating a path through the dense undergrowth that extended right down to the water's edge, until the forest thinned and they could see the way ahead for some distance. But it was no use. There was no trace of H'Narth and T'Sorf. As Kort said, they could have come ashore miles downriver, headed off in any direction. H'Narth had come to Skara with a purpose. It was likely that he knew the planet's geography better than any of them.

Almost as soon as they started moving again, it began to rain, an icy, sheeting rain that drove them back into the forest for shelter. With the rain came a fall in temperature and a skulking, muddy sky that seemed to press in on their very thoughts, turning them as gloomy as the weather.

Still soaked through from his dip in the river, Spock began to feel a tightening in his chest. If Vulcans could be said to have a weakness, it was their susceptibility to chest complaints – hardly a problem in the hot, dry climate of Vulcan, but a constant threat in Spock's weakened state and with the saturating dampness of the Skarran climate. Spock did not underestimate the danger he was in.

"We must build a fire, dry out before we die of exposure." Hunter remarked, observing Spock's condition." He did not say it, but all understood that, for the time being they would have to abandon the search.

After two days, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The river had doubled in size and was the colour of dried blood from churned up silt and sediment. Kravok approached and stood beside Hunter as he contemplated the fast-flowing current. "You fear that H'Narth may harm your friend's son." He said.

"Yes. If they did not drown." Hunter replied, flatly.

Kravok looked away. What could he say? H'Narth would do whatever was necessary. He hovered by Hunter's side. Kravok had observed how easily this man and the Klingon, Kort communicated, as though there was no history of conflict or enmity between their races. Kravok's curiosity about other races and humans in particular overrode his Klingon upbringing; he heard himself ask, "You and Kort are friends. How did this come about?"

"You mean, how is it possible for a human and a Klingon to be friends? Let me tell you something, Kravok – we're not so different. Oh, sure, you Klingons have your annoying habits such as your belligerence, your arrogance, your stubbornness – but, know what, so do we. And so do the Vulcans, though don't tell Mr Spock I said so." Kravok was not sure if the older man were mocking him – Hunter's tone was not hostile and yet his words were provocative. Hunter smiled at him again and this time Kravok acknowledged him with a slight nod.

"It is depressing that for all that we have learned to master the art of travelling across vast distances all that we have really learned is that we can't wait to get out there and see what there is, see who there is – to conquer and subjugate and exploit." Hunter sounded infinitely weary. Kravok was puzzled.

"Those things you speak of – exploiting and subjugating – these are part of the Klingon code – but I thought you humans and other members of the Federation were different."

"Are we though, Kravok? The Enterprise destroyed your warbird. We have not yet found an alternative to killing and violence."

"My commander gave them no choice. He was the first to strike and with no warning." Hunter nodded.

"Yet I cannot help feeling that we are destined to be friends, your people and mine."

"Because you and Kort are friends? Kort is not a typical Klingon."

"And you, Kravok? Are you typical?" Hunter asked, his eyes on the red, angry river. Kravok did not reply. How could he admit to this man what he had feared to admit even to himself not such a long time ago?

"Now, what do you suppose brought these Klingons to Skara?" Hunter asked, out of earshot of Kravok and T'Hana and dropping back to where Spock was negotiating a steep incline with obvious difficulty. Spock did not answer immediately. They had kept up a demanding pace for several hours, since morning. Hunter was perspiring, but had matched the Klingons with their strong physiques step for step. Spock had been lagging behind again, blocking his pain as best he could and struggling to suppress the irrational thoughts that kept threatening to distort his thinking. At that moment, although he recognised that it was illogical to be irritated by Hunter's words, he was intensely irritated, and his impatience was conveyed in his tone, which in its turn, irritated him more.

"I fail to see why you ask me that when you already know the answer. It is the same reason that you and Kort are here, is it not? You began telling me about Ravik, but you were careful not to reveal too much. I find your endless prevarications and omissions wearying."

"You think we're concealing things from you, Spock. Maybe you're right. Truth is, Kort and I don't know whom we can trust in Starfleet, but as you've already said as much, I'll admit, our landing on Skara was no accident. As to why the Klingon ship arrived, that's anyone's guess. Maybe I should be asking you what the Enterprise was doing so close to an off limits planet? Ah yes, you answered a mysterious distress call that could not in the end, even by traced to Skara. Now who do you suppose sent that? Not those hairy Neanderthals, I'll wager." Hunter's tone was more taunting than hostile. Ahead of them on the path, the Klingon woman looked over her shoulder, but it was unlikely she had heard.

Blood was pounding in Spock's ears. He concentrated on avoiding the many gnarled tree roots protruding above ground, concealed in the long grass. He squinted at the path ahead, rising ever more steeply among the trees – not really a path at all, just a way through the forest that was negotiable on foot, flattened out by passing animals, perhaps or troupes of Skarrans on hunting trips. He stumbled, despite his best efforts and would have gone down had Hunter not grabbed his arm to steady him. Spock flinched at the unwelcome contact, and was about to shake Hunter off when he was overcome with a sudden impression of the human's concern and something more, his _goodness_. For a moment, Spock stood still, then, surprising himself with the spontaneous gesture, he reached out to Hunter with his mind, communicating an image, _trust me_, not knowing if it would be received without a full meld using his fingers on the man's meld points, but Hunter nodded, releasing Spock's arm.

"I do, Spock. Kort does too – and T'Sorf has never doubted you. But we have to be careful." Spock nodded. Both men resumed their climb up the arduous path, Spock putting one foot in front of the other in a mechanical way until Kort signalled that it was safe to stop.

"Rest awhile, friend." Hunter said. Spock had little choice but to comply. Kravok, the injured Klingon, he noted sank down as soon as the group halted. Spock leaned back against a tree, resting his eyes for a moment. It was late afternoon and the light was already fading. Now that he was not expending energy walking, Spock was shivering again, but at least the forest provided shelter from the ever-present chill wind.

The Klingon, Kravok moaned. T'Hana knelt near him and felt his tunic at the shoulder; her fingers were sleek with blood when she took them away.

"I have some training in field medicine. May I assist?" Spock offered, addressing the Klingon woman. He examined Kravok's wound, which was ugly and inflamed, much like the one on his own foot, from the animal snare.

Without medication, there was little that could be done; in time it would fester and grow worse, except, Spock noticed that in Kravok's case, it was possible that a foreign agent was causing the inflammation. He probed the wound as gently as he could. Despite his attempts at fortitude, the Klingon tensed against the pain. Using a sterile instrument from Hunter's medikit, Spock probed the wound again and felt metal.

The Klingon woman seemed to sense what he was about to do and gripped Kravok's other shoulder, stabilising him. Spock tugged and felt the metal dislodge. With one more deft pull it came away in his fingers followed by a cleansing flow of blood. As T'Hana covered the wound with a bandage from her pack, Spock laid the shard of metal aside and looked at Kravok, "The wound will stand a better chance of healing now." He said.

"Thank you." Kravok said, exhausted by his ordeal. Spock nodded though his face remained inscrutable. By now they had almost lost the light. Hunter had gathered some branches and Spock used his phaser to start a fire and warm some rocks. They would have to spend the night in the open and he had no wish to freeze.

Kort disappeard for an hour and returned with two furry creatures which he and the other Klingons skinned and roasted over the fire. Klingons were expert hunters. The smell of animal flesh was repugnant to Spock who made do with a handful of leaves and berries. Hunger was easy to suppress compared to his other troubles. The rocks would provide warmth for many hours. Spock did not volunteer to take the first watch, knowing that his face must betray his exhaustion, and he lay down, glad of the heat radiating from the large boulders.

He woke hours later, still the dead of night, and saw Hunter's watchful eyes guarding the group. Insisting that he felt refreshed, Spock took over the watch and for a time, all was quiet, the Skarran moonlight bathing the sleepers in a hushed, silver luminescence. Gradually, Spock felt the familiar sensation of a presence close by. Unalarmed, he formed a question and projected it in his thoughts, "Who are you?" The answer came back, swift, curious, in the Vulcan tongue.

"Who asks?" Was it a question from some tangible source, or a figment of his own imagination? Spock could not be sure.

"I am Spock of Vulcan." Spock waited, expecting his mind to be invaded by an alien presence, but he felt no tendrils of another's thoughts reaching into his consciousness, no invasive probing.

For several moments all was quiet and Spock wondered if he were experiencing some kind of hallucination, the stirrings of a psychosis. Then it came again, a thought, not his own, a warning, like before, "Take care, Spock of Vulcan. They come."

Unnerved now, Spock looked around him, listening keenly. And then he heard. A rustling of leaves that was not the wind, a twig snapping underfoot, the faint sound of breathing. "Kort! Hunter!" Spock's warning call roused all the sleepers and all were on their feet instantly.

Too late! Into the moonlight, from the dark undergrowth all around their camp stepped a number of humanoids, not Spock noticed at once, the native Skarans that they had encountered already, but a different species entirely. They were surrounded. The visitors were tall, silver-skinned, all with the same sleek, waist-length hair of an iridescent green and purple, like a starling's feathers, with the same glossy sheen. They carried no discernible weapons, but their stance and appearance communicated a sense of threat.

"Who is your leader?" Spock stepped forward, identifying himself to the questioner, who asked immediately, pointing to the Klingons who had been bound for the night. "Why are they bound?"

"We do not know if we can trust them." Spock answered. The Starling leader looked at Kort and Kravoc, then at Hunter, registering the variations in their appearance, perhaps.

Then, he signalled with his hand and five of his companions stepped forward and stood next to Spock and his group, marking them. Immediately, Kravok lashed out at his captor. The guard looked to his leader and received a nod. From the folds of his loose-fitting tunic, Kravok's guard produced a pen-shaped instrument, which he pointed directly at his captive. The Klingon sank to his knees, his face contorting in agony.

Spock intervened. "You're killing him." He said, calmly. "I entreat you to stop."

"It is for Nor to decide when to stop." The leader replied, unmoved either by Kravok's suffering, or Spock's plea. Kort, acting swiftly sprang on Kravok's tormentor, seizing him from behind. Immediately, two guards hauled him off,

throwing him to the ground, one of them taking from his belt a device identical to the one being used on Kravok. The others watched as Kort too, writhed in pain.

"This is inhuman." Hunter said, his voice strained, watching Kort's agony.

The leader of the Starlings, as Spock thought of them, issued a command and at once, the torture ceased. Hunter was at Kort's side instantly, helping him to his feet. Kravok struggled to stand.

Spock fingered his phaser. He had observed the Starlings adjust the settings on their weapons before turning them on their victims – it was likely that the instruments were capable of more than inflicting pain. So far, the Starlings had not searched them for weapons but that would surely be their next move. Spock had been careful to conceal his intention as best he could but when he looked up, he saw the Starling's leader watching him.

Spock reacted with lightening speed, pulling his phaser from his pocket and aiming it directly at the Starling leader. Before he could fire, another Starling moving impossibly fast kicked the weapon from his hand, and he felt himself pushed forcefully to the ground.

Kort and Hunter, seeing Spock's movement had reached for their weapons and been similarly dissuaded. All three lay on the ground, unable to move. They were summarily disarmed.

"Tie them up," the leader ordered coldly. "Kill the one named Spock."

Author's note: Well, what do you think? Is this the end for Spock? Let me know if you're enjoying the story so far – sooner you review, sooner you'll find out if our favourite Vulcan survives!


	14. Chapter 14

On the Bridge, Hag and Blackstone were arguing. "I tell you that ship means to take us." Stephen Blackstone said, his voice calm but insistent. McCoy glanced at Kirk, worriedly. It certainly looked as if Blackstone were right. Kirk was assessing the situation with his customary sang-froid. Weston was being characteristically indecisive,

"We don't know their intentions yet. Surely it would be best not to overreact."

"They may be about to make their intentions known." Nancy Weston said, suddenly, with an anxious look at her husband. "A communication is coming through." There was a sudden hush on the bridge as everyone waited expectantly. Then, a burst of static and the Aurora's small viewscreen flickered on and off before settling and revealing the image of a male, humanoid face. For a few seconds there was visual contact only as the man mouthed silent words from the screen, but there was no mistaking his meaning.

"He's giving us a warning. Nancy, what's he saying? We need audio, now!" Weston bellowed, panic-stricken. Nancy fumbled with the controls.

"What if he's after us?" McCoy said lowering his voice for only Kirk to hear, but Blackstone looked across at him with interest, causing McCoy a moment's unease, before he dismissed the look as coincidence. Kirk pulled McCoy with him out of the alien captain's range of sight. The man looking at them from the Shadow's bridge was human. He did not appear to be wearing a uniform, but it was hard to tell given that only his head and shoulders were visible on the Aurora's diminutive screen. Likewise, it was impossible to tell if others were present on his bridge.

"Nancy!" barked Weston again.

"I'm doing my best." Nancy said, and at that second, the Shadow captain's voice boomed out loud and clear, "…have five minutes to comply with our request, otherwise we will have no choice but to disarm you."

Kirk took a step forward, careful to remain out of the enemy's range of vision and grabbed Weston's arm. "Talk to him." It was not a request, not a command; Kirk had managed to pitch it somewhere between the two. Weston nodded.

"Tell him you've just established audio." Kirk said authoritatively, addressing his counterpart. Weston obeyed.

"Part of your message was not received. Please repeat." The Shadow captain stared at Weston disbelievingly. "Four minutes." He said. Kirk prompted Weston.

"Ask him what he wants." Weston repeated for the alien to hear.

No explanation was forthcoming. The viewscreen went dark, all communication ceased.

"Roger, the viewscreen!" Nancy pointing at the blank screen.

"What now?" Weston asked.

"We've either run out of time – or he's just trying to scare us." Kirk answered. calmly.

He looked around him, as he had done many times on the Bridge of the Enterprise, his eyes settling briefly on Stephen Blackstone's young face with a flicker of disappointment. McCoy understood instantly. The Aurora's crew was no match for the Enterprise's and Blackstone no substitute for Spock.

"How do you propose to stop them, Hopkirk? The Aurora's a cargo ship." Weston said, edgily. He was looking directly at Kirk, ready to defer all decisions to him, it seemed. Kirk glanced at Bones. The medic's expression was one that Jim had seen a hundred times or more from every single member of his bridge crew – quiet confidence in Kirk's ability to command, to find a solution. Kirk flashed his CMO a look of gratitude, brushed his hand over the top of his head and turned on his heel, ready to assume command.

"There's no way we can match him in firepower, so here's what we're going to do." He said, commanding the immediate attention of everyone on the bridge. "When the Shadow's captain resumes visual contact, I want you, Weston, to invite him to dock alongside the Aurora. Tell him that you will surrender your cargo to him immediately as long as he guarantees the safety of the Aurora and its crew." A silence followed his words. Kirk looked Weston straight in the eye and said, "I know what you've got hidden in the hold, mister, so don't even bother saying they won't be interested in engine parts."

Weston nodded. Blackstone took a step towards Kirk,

"May I point out that by inviting the Shadow captain aboaed this ship, you may be sanctioning its destruction." He said, his tone neutral.

"I'm ready to take my chances." Kirk said. Blackstone sighed. He moved to stand beside Kirk and lowered his voice,

"It is not what you have discovered in the hold, whatever that is, that they seek." He said, quietly, meeting Kirk's astonished eye. "They are bounty hunters. They're after me. They must have worked out I was aboard the Aurora."

It was all too much for Weston. "Would someone like to explain what's going on aboard my ship." He exploded, "Who are you, really?" He asked, looking from one to the other of his passengers.

"Later!" Kirk snapped.

"There is a good chance that the Shadow Captain is unaware of your presence aboard, Mr Hopirk." Blackstone said, "We should use that to our advantage."

Kirk nodded, already formulating a plan. To the crew, he said,

"When the Shadow's crew boards, McKay and I will be waiting for them in the cargo hold. If it's Stephen they are after, you'll have to tell them you're detaining him there. Their vessel is roughly the size of the Aurora – the crew probably numbers four or five. They'll need to leave at least one crewmember aboard their own ship." Kirk sounded confident, cocky almost. Put like that, it sounded as though they did not have too much of a problem – just a messy distraction to take care of before they could continue on their true mission to Skara. Listening to him, McCoy was convinced that it could be done with minimum time wasted. God knows, they had lost enough time already.

Weston seemed less than convinced, "It'll never work." He moaned. "How can you be sure there are so few of them? And they must know what they're about. We aren't trained fighters." Kirk rolled his eyes. The man's negativity was staggering. Hag, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, protested, "I am an Andorian, trained in all aspects of war," he stated, daring anyone to challenge him. Blackstone added,

"I have weapons concealed in my cabin."

"Hopkirk!" Nancy Weston drew Kirk's attention to the screen, "They're re-establishing visual contact." The Shadow captain's face was swimming into view on the screen. Kirk and McCoy ducked out of sight. "Tell him you agree to his terms, whatever they are. Invite him to board. Tell him you'll be unarmed." Kirk hissed.

"Three minutes." The pirate captain growled, as though no interruption had occurred.

"Alright." Weston said, "What do you want?"

"We want your passenger, Stephen Blackstone. You are not in a position to negotiate. Prepare to be boarded." The communication ceased abruptly.

"The Shadow is preparing to dock alongside us." Hag said. Weston shrugged. There was a tense pause as they waited for the pirate ship to draw alongside the Aurora and attach itself to her like a malevolent twin.

"Where is Blackstone?" the Shadow's captain asked as he stepped between the two ships that were now effectively one, joined at their sides, hanging still in space and waiting. He was flanked by two guards on either side, armed with familiar-looking weapons. From his concealed vantage point, Kirk noted that two of the guards were Orions, the leader, now that they could see him clearly, was human. The other two were Terran, one male, one female, as far as he could tell, but there were so many like races in the galaxy it was impossible to be sure where they hailed from. Weston would need to be careful – the muscle bound Orions were not known for their sweet nature. He hoped that Weston and the others would follow his orders.

"He's in the hold." Weston answered, sounding nervous. "May I introduce myself. Roger Weston, captain of this fine vessel, and this is my wife, Nancy."

"Leyton." The Shadow's captain answered, laconically, but he gave Nancy a gracious smile.

McCoy, Hag and Blackstone would be waiting for them in the hold, carefully concealed. Kirk had needed to see what they were up against. Quiet as a cat, he headed down another corridor that would lead him to the hull of the ship ahead of the rest.

McCoy, Blackstone and Hag looked relieved to see him. "So far so good." Kirk said softly, then quickly explained how many opponents they faced. "They're armed with disrupters." He cautioned.

McCoy glanced uncomfortably at his phaser and set it to stun. Often uneasy with a weapon in his hand, the medic particularly disliked the effects of the disrupter - even set to stun, it could cause substantial pain and lasting damage. Not that he baulked at using force when it was necessary – he was no soldier but he knew that he would act or react with necessary might when the situation called for it. And, he trusted Jim. Force was always a last resort with this man, when negotiation and reason had failed or were not appropriate, and Jim had an uncanny way of knowing when that point had been reached.

As if sensing his discomfort, Kirk flashed Bones a reassuring smile. Footsteps sounded in the narrow corridor leading to the hold. Weston walked in first followed by Leyton and the others. Leyton's crew entered, two in front of their leader, two behind, the ones in front making a sweep of the immediate area while the other two kept their weapons trained on the Westons. It would be immediately obvious that the hold had many hiding places, the rows of sheathed crates and bulk boxes creating narrow alleys and shadowy corners. Suspicion drenched the atmosphere as Leyton and his guards scanned the space.

"Where is he?" Leyton asked, clearly on his guard.

"Over here!" Kirk yelled, throwing a spanner across the floor. As it landed and spiralled noisily across the floor, a nervous Orion blasted it with disruptor fire. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it worked. The distraction it created, allowed Kirk to fire a responding blast at the Orion, scoring a direct hit on his victim's chest. McCoy capitalised on the momentary chaos, firing a blast from his phaser, hitting the other Orion squarely on the leg – the big Orion crumpled but recovered sufficiently to raise his weapon again. McCoy cursed soundlessly, "Constitution of a damned ox!"

In the chaos, the Westons leapt for cover. Kirk, moving stealthily between the boxes, tossed each of them a weapon and they panned out, using the crates for cover. The wounded Orion covered the three remaining Shadows as they too dived for cover. McCoy felt a pang of guilt as he fired another shot at the Orion's chest, hoping that that ox-like constitution would help him to recover from a second blast.

For a time they played cat and mouse amongst the crates, and the confined space of the hold resounded with the deafening zing of phaser and disruptor fire. McCoy watched with interest as Blackstone crept soundlessly up behind one of the Terran women and disabled her using what looked for all the world like the Vulcan neck pinch. Now where in the devil's name had he learned that trick?

Two left. The female made a fatal mistake as she stepped between two crates unaware that Blackstone had taken out her cover. Weston aimed his weapon and McCoy watched in horror as the woman disappeared in a bright flash of disruptor fire. "Bastard!" he yelled, momentarily forgetting his own safety. "You were ordered to set your weapon to stun." Weston was staring down at the unfamiliar weapon, dismayed; clearly his incompetence knew no bounds. There was a pause, followed by the sound of the Shadow captain's weapon hitting the floor. He stepped into the open, his hands clasped behind his head in a universal gesture of surrender.

"Put your weapon down, mister." Kirk commanded Weston who was still staring at the disrupter, pointing it dangerously in front of him. Like McCoy, Kirk was furious at Weston's action. Weston glared at Kirk but lowered his disruptor. Blackstone and Hag were by now restraining Leyton by binding his hands.

"Who sent you?" Kirk asked, roughly.

"Jim." McCoy interrupted, approaching Leyton.

"Not now, Bones," Kirk said,

"Wait. The dead woman – I think she meant something to him." McCoy said, approaching Leyton. Now how in the hell did McCoy know that, Kirk wondered? He looked at the Shadow's captain and saw for himself how Leyton was – a broken man, his eyes fixed on the empty space where the woman had been. He did not care about his bounty now.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Kirk began, and, truthfully he took no joy in the woman's death, "But the truth is, you were ready to take this ship by force. And you were prepared to take one of its crewmembers, for what purpose, we still do not know. You've got some explaining to do, mister." Turning to Weston he said, "You have a secure storage room that appears to be empty. We'll use it as a holding area for our prisoners until they're ready to talk. Count yourself lucky that I'm not throwing you in there as well." He turned to Blackstone, "Mr Blackstone, you have some explaining to do."

Kirk waited until he, McCoy and Blackstone were in the relative privacy of the cramped quarters that he and Bones shared, before introducing himself and the doctor.

"I'm Captain James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. This is my Chief Medical Officer, Dr Leonard McCoy." To his surprise, the young man's features settled into a satisfied smile.

"So, I heard correctly." He said. McCoy looked at Blackstone, remembering his slip on the Bridge.

"We're not the only ones with a secret to conceal." Kirk said. Blackstone was no longer smiling and something about the composure in his face reminded Kirk of another he knew. He took a step closer to Blackstone and pushed back the hair covering his left ear, which he touched, feeling the lifelike texture of an expert prosthetic.

"When did you guess?" Blackstone asked.

"The mind-meld, the nerve pinch," Kirk said, glancing at McCoy, "For a human, you seem to know a lot about Vulcan ways."

"About the mind-meld," McCoy said, "You pretended you didn't know what you were doing, but I think you gave Nyreea comfort in her last moments. Only someone trained in Vulcan telepathic techniques could do that. Your clumsiness over initiating the contact was faked, wasn't it?" Blackstone gave a faint nod.

"I realised she was going to die. When I touched her, I could sense her panic – I helped her to accept what was happening to her, that was all."

"That was a great deal." McCoy commented, quietly.

"Why the pretence?" Kirk asked, "Just what kind of a Vulcan are you?" Blackstone hesitated. "Not a very good one." He answered, wryly.

"I was born on Vulcan and lived there for the first fifteen years of my life. Then, my parents, who were both scientists, were assigned to a project on Ravik V. I was supposed to stay on Vulcan with my grandparents, continue with my Vulcan training. I travelled to Ravik with my parents for a short vacation – I was to return to Vulcan as soon as a place on a ship was available, but before that could happen I contracted Rigellian fever and was confined for six months. I spent another six months recuperating. Then, just as I was judged well enough to return to Vulcan…"

"Ravik was destroyed." Kirk said, grimly. Blackstone nodded.

"I survived. My parents perished. It was several years before I returned to Vulcan. By then, I had learned…other ways."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. They had both heard stories about what the survivors on Ravik had lived through before their rescuers came.

"My grandfather came for me when he discovered that I had survived. I resumed my life on Vulcan, worked hard at the disciplines and my studies. I earned a place at the Vulcan science academy but at the last moment I turned it down."

"You wanted to know why your parents had to die." Kirk said, calmly.

"I became obsessed with finding out the truth about the strike on Ravik, yes."

"Son, that's one of the great mysteries of the galaxy." Said McCoy, gently.

"I believe that the answer lies on Skara." Blackstone replied.

"Skara!" Kirk could not conceal his surprise.

"I've been following hints – rumours picked up in bars, or trading posts or ships like the Aurora. I'm not alone in seeking the truth about Ravik. Two others, a Klingon and a Terran pursue it also. We were to have met on Skara. I believe that they may have vital information."

"Kort and Hunter?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Both were involved in an attack on a Federation science vessel – the Curie – it has recently come to light that Kort and Hunter survived this incident also and we have reason to believe that they found their way to Skara."

Kirk looked at Blackstone, "Did you know these men during your time on Ravik?" A shadow descended over Blackstone's features.

"You have to understand what conditions were like on Ravik – an entire planet torn apart, thousands dead. A whole year before help came. Yes, I knew Kort and Hunter. Unlike many, they did not lose their humanity amidst the chaos and insanity that overtook many of the survivors. Captain Kirk, if you think that Kort and Hunter had anything to do with the Curie's destruction, you are wrong."

"A Klingon and a human working together? It sounds hardly possible,"

"They became friends, no something more - like brothers, but that too is inexact. There is a Vulcan word that describes their relationship - Thy'la. Are you familiar with this term?" For a moment Kirk looked stunned, as though he'd been struck a blow. McCoy laid a hand on his captain's shoulder, "He is familiar with the term," he said, quietly. Blackstone regarded both men with slight puzzlement.

"You must allow me to come to Skara with you."

"Jim?" Mcoy said, questioningly. Kirk sighed again and looked at Blackstone askance, his head lowered, the faintest of smiles playing at his lips. He felt outnumbered. And, he trusted McCoy's judgement. The doctor had evidently taken a shine to the young Vulcan.

"Your name isn't Stephen Blackstone. What is it?"

"My name is Sevak, but please use my alias. Kirk nodded.

"May I ask what it is you seek on Skara?" Blackstone asked.

"My First Officer was stranded on Skara after an ion storm. We're hoping to rescue him." Blackstone looked surprised,

"Your First Officer aboard the Enterprise is a Vulcan?"

"That's correct." Kirk answered. "Mr Spock is the Enterprise's First Officer and Science Officer. He is also…" Kirk paused, looking at McCoy who nodded at him encouragingly, "Spock is also our friend."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

No!" T'Sorf's voice as he lunged in front of Spock.

"T'Sorf!" the boy's father yelled, reaching out for his son in astonishment. For a split second, the Starling stared from one to the other of them, before stepping towards the Vulcan and felling him with a blow to his stomach, swiftly followed by another to his face. Green blood filled Spock'smouth and he tasted copper. The colour of his blood probably saved him from a more sustained beating. His attacker stopped to stare at the emerald liquid seeping from Spock's burst lip. Spock cocked an eyebrow at his assailant and returned the stare.

"What devil is this?" asked the one the leader had called Nor. "His blood is not of our colour."

"I am a Vulcan. The oxidising agent in our blood is copper, not iron as in many other humanoids." Spock explained. To his astonishment, the leader seemed satisfied with the explanation. Nor hauled Spock to his feet, bound his hands behind his back and pushed him towards the others.

"Who is the prisoner now, Vulcan?" The familiar voice startled the group of captives. H'Narth stepped out of the undergrowth. He scowled at T'Sorf, saying,

"Dare to interfere again and I will kill you, half-breed." Then, turning to the leader of the aliens, he said, "The Vulcan may be of use to us."

"What's going on H'Narth?" T'Hana asked, "Is this why we came to Skara – to meet with these aliens?" H'Narth ignored the question. Kort, overjoyed to see his son again, turned now to H'Narth angrily, "How dare you take my son." He strained at his restraints. H'Narth spat at his feet, "Your son will remain with me as a guarantee of your good behaviour." He signalled to the boy to stand near him. T'Sorf laid a hand on Spock's arm as he passed. The Vulcan was on his knees, still weakened by the guard's assault, but thanks to T'Sorf, he was alive and he did not flinch at the boy's contact.

Nor spoke with the leader, in a quick, harsh-sounding language for a few moments before turning to the captives. "You will come with us." He commanded. At his order, the Starlings surrounded the group of captives levelling the pen-like weapons at them to demonstrate that non-compliance was not an option.

As they walked, Spock quizzed Hunter. "Were you aware of the existence of this race?" Hunter shook his head, "Only of the Skarrans. The hairy ones. But Skara's a big planet. We've seen only a tiny part of it."

"Our preliminary scan of the surface revealed no significant settlements, no evidence of evolved or advanced civilisations. Yet these people are evidently technologically advanced."

"Perhaps they didn't want to be scanned." Hunter suggested.

"Yes. It is possible to evade our sensors with shielding but as you are no doubt aware, the level of technological expertise required would be roughly equivalent to our own."

"Roughly, Mr Spock?" Hunter said, smiling.

"It was not my intention to be imprecise, merely…" Hunter interrupted before Spock could continue,

"It's okay, Mr Spock, I was joking."

"It never ceases to amaze me how humans insist on extracting humour from any situation."

"It's our nature, Mr Spock. Besides, humour is not always an end in itself; it has a purpose." Spock did not inquire as to the purpose of the humour in the present situation.

"Where do you suppose they're taking us?" Hunter asked.

"I do not know." Spock answered, honestly.

Hunter's question was answered moments later when they found themselves at the river they had crossed to escape the Skarans the day before. Spock shivered involuntarily, remembering his ordeal in the icy water.

"I believe we are going on another boat trip." Hunter said, with no enthusiasm in his voice. The prisoners were ushered onto the boat, still bound, and made to sit on deck.

"Why won't they communicate with us?" Kort asked. Spock and Hunter had made several attempts at communication during the walk to the river, only to be met with silence.

"Why would they? It is a fact that the unknown breeds fear in many species." Spock pointed out, "Clearly, the Starlings are cognisant of techniques of psychological intimidation."

"Starlings?" Kort asked, puzzled. Hunter smiled,

"Yes I see. Their hair – the iridescent quality. You are familiar with the birds of Earth, Mr Spock?" Spock reminded Hunter that his mother was human and added, "On visits to Earth as a child I made a study of the natural history to be found there. I had a particular interest in ornithology."

"Well the name is apt." Hunter approved.

"They're about to communicate now, I believe." Kort said, nodding in the direction of the Starling leader who was approaching them with H'Narth and another Starling male. Spock was singled out.

"You will come below with us." The leader said, ushering them to their feet.

Below deck, the Starling leader addressed Spock, "What is your business here?"

"The two Klingons and I are here as a result of an ion storm. The others have been here somewhat longer, but not because they wished to be. They crash landed on this planet." Their captor nodded.

"I am Piklamer." He gestured at his companions, "We are Morana. You must understand that I have no reason to trust any of you." Piklamer said, "Therefore you must be kept under restraint for the time being so that you do not interfere with our interests on this planet." Spock's eyebrow climbed into his brow at Piklamer's words, but it was Hunter who asked the obvious question,

"And what exactly are your interests on this planet?"

"That is not your concern. You will be treated well but resistance to your captivity will not be tolerated." The conversation was over.

"It seems that we are no longer your captives." T'Hana observed.

"Yes, that would appear to be the case." Spock observed. "However your situation has not improved. To use a metaphor favoured by an acquaintance of mine, we are now all in the same boat."

"Quite literally" Hunter said.

"We must determine a course of action." Spock continued, "Since for the time being, the Starlings are our common enemy, it might be propitious to work together to effect an escape."

"Piklamer was anxious that his people's interests on this planet were not threatened. Do either of you have any idea what those interests might be?" Spock was addressing Kort and Hunter. The two exchanged glances, then looked at the Klingons. Spock sighed; he was close to experiencing exasperation and impatience. What did Kort and Hunter know that they did not wish to reveal?

"Very well. I am unable to speculate in the absence of facts or evidence." In his experience, humans, and many of the other species he had encountered on his travels were satisfied to formulate hypotheses based on the most meagre of details. Such flights of fancy were not the Vulcan way. If he were Jim Kirk, he would have admitted to having a hunch that Kort and Hunter knew more than they were revealing, that this too had something to do with why they were here.

"The boat's moving." Hunter said.

There was no point in speculating about where the Starling's craft was taking them. They were being held in a room without windows and up or downriver was meaningless.

Time stretched out interminably on the slow river journey. Kort was alert and watchful; relief at knowing T'Sorf was alive, being replaced by anxiety about H'Narth's intentions towards the boy. Spock conserved his energy, resting but neither meditating nor sleeping. Pain pulsed through him as though his body were a conduit. The wound on his foot was infected, as were the deep scratches inflicted by the sardur's claws, and he suspected that the Starling's blow had cracked ribs, the pain of which was exacerbated by his racking cough. With the right treatment and some rest, these were ailments that would easily heal, but in this environment and in his exhausted mental state, Spock was unsure of his chances.

"One named Spock." The Starling whom the leader had addressed as Nor, stood in the doorway, seeking out the Vulcan. Everyone stirred at the sound of his voice. Kravok was on his feet instantly, adopting a fighting stance, despite his bound hands. Kort regarded him with seeming amusement, "Once a warrior, Kravok." He remarked.

"I am Spock." The Vulcan struggled to stand.

"Piklamer will speak with you." Spock nodded.

"My companions need water, food." He said.

"That will be taken care of." Answered Nor. "First, you must come with me."

Kort and Hunter had also stood up and moved to accompany Spock.

"Only the one named Spock has been summoned by Piklamer. You will stay here." To reinforce his command, Nor raised the instrument he was holding and aimed it in their direction. It was the same weapon that he had used to torture them earlier.

"That will not be necessary." Spock said, stepping in front of Kort and Hunter. "I will come with you."

"Take care, friend." Said Hunter softly as Spock walked to the door.

Piklamer spoke directly to Spock. "I trust you slept well?"

"I was troubled by my injuries and was unable to rest much." Piklamer ignored the comment. He signalled to Nor who advanced on Spock, the same pen-like instrument in his hand that he had used to torture Kort. Before Spock could resist, the Starling had pressed the instrument against his forehead and Spock felt an agonising pain followed by an uncomfortable tingling sensation.

Piklamer pressed Spock into a chair and pulled another close to him for himself. He took the instrument from Nor and for a few moments, his eyes bored into Spock's and the Vulcan had the distinct and unpleasant sensation that his mind was being invaded. Violated. Amongst Vulcans, this practice was abhorrent and those who violated another's mind without consent were shunned.

Disbelieving, Spock flinched from the contact as he felt the Starling leader scanning the layers of his mind, rapidly, expertly, effortlessly dismantling barriers erected by years of Vulcan discipline. But Piklamer was not merely in Spock's mind; rather Spock was revealing his thoughts to his captor. Piklamer asked questions and Spock answered. On and on the questioning continued until Spock had lost all sense of time passing, all sense of what had been asked, or what revealed. When it was over, he sat still, in shock,

"Forgive the intrusion." Piklamer said when he was finished. "It was necessary for me to obtain information quickly and the normal method of extracting information is so slow. I appreciate that it is not the way of you Vulcans to probe minds without the consent of each party, however, the customs of other peoples are not my concern."

"Indeed." Spock commented, struggling for composure. "Your telepathic skills are admirable, your appreciation of the rights of others, less so"

"Sarcasm, Mr Spock? I trust that is a trait of your human half."

"No sarcasm was intended. I was merely stating a truth."

"Perhaps you are unaware of how well integrated your human and Vulcan identities have become. The one speaks for the other – when they are not in conflict, of course. No sarcasm intended." Spock made no comment.

"These Klingons. They are your enemies and yet you try to rationalise your fear of them."

"Hate is illogical and a waste of energy."

" The Klingon, Kort and two of the others interest you. H'Narth not so."

"I have met many like H'Narth before."

"And the others?"

"Kort interests me because he is against the Klingon mould. Kravok and T'Hana I barely know, but they are not like H'Narth."

"On what do you base that judgement, Mr Spock? A feeling? An intuition? Or is it logic arrived at through careful observation and deduction? Which head are you wearing now, Spock - Human or Vulcan. Oh, you will say Vulcan, of course, that is how you like to see yourself – in control. Your friends know you better than you know yourself." Spock looked up.

"This Captain Kirk, this Jim. And McCoy – the doctor. They mean a lot to you, am I correct?" Spock said nothing, only looked at Piklamer, his expression inscrutable, but Piklamer smiled knowingly.

"Don't worry, Mr Spock. Your secret is safe with me." Piklamer said, enigmatically.

Again, Spock said nothing. He was uncomfortable with the conversation and still reeling from Piklamer's brutal violation of his inner self.

"You interest me, Mr Spock. You have an excellent mind – well disciplined. I admire that. But you Vulcans do not use your telepathic ability to your advantage. That is a failing." Piklamer slumped suddenly into a seat. "Take him back to his companions, Nor. I have finished with him - for now" he said, sounding suddenly bored.

Spock knew that he must appear shaken. Hunter made to lay a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, unable to bear the contact.

"What happened, Spock?" Hunter asked, gently. Spock stared at him for a moment, unsure how to answer. How to explain that his whole inner being had suffered an intolerable assault? Rather than try, the Vulcan opted for silence. Thankfully, Hunter let him be. Spock sat down, steepled his hands and pressed his fingertips to his chin, as though in meditation. He was half aware of the conversation that sprang up around him.

"Do we sit here and wait for them to take us one by one and reduce us to this?" Kravok said, pointing at Spock.

Hunter looked at Kort. "He has a point." Kort said.

"We have no weapons." T'Hana said.

"What did they do to you, Spock?" Hunter asked, gently, after a while. Spock explained as best he could. He was still in shock.

Hunter looked at Spock with concern. "I am sorry you had to experience that, Spock."

"Devils" Kort exclaimed. "I too, am sorry for your ordeal, Mr Spock."

Spock nodded and looked away. Not since the weeks following his ordeal with the mind-sifter had he felt so vulnerable. He needed time and quiet to restore himself. There was no chance of either. Pain and weariness and his present unstable state of mind could all be controlled. He would have to manage for now, retreat to a still, quiet corner of his mind and concentrate on - what? On simply keeping himself sane.

A contemplative hush descended over the prisoners as though each was pondering how they might have reacted to being put through a similar trial. It lasted until a sudden jolt signalled that the vessel had run aground, by accident or intent, they had no way of knowing.

"You will come with us." Nor ordered when at last the door to their prison was opened again.

It was mid morning on Skara, a pallid sun was climbing reluctantly towards its zenith without warmth. Spock shivered, unconsciously shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his arms for warmth. It was as though the season had advanced by several weeks into Winter in only a few short hours.

He regretted not spending more time acquainting himself with the planet's climatology before beaming down, but the time between receiving the distress signal and responding to it had been short. "Who had sent the distress signal?" The source had been Skara, then mysteriously not Skara. Spock remembered an embarrassed Uhura trying to explain to the captain that she had lost the trace. Could the signal have been sent by the Starlings to summon them here? For what purpose? Had they known of the Enterprise's presence in the space around Skara and deliberately lured her in? Spock looked up and saw the faint crescent trace of one of the planet's moons, and for a fleeting second, he imagined that the Enterprise was up there somewhere, orbiting Skara. A comforting, if illogical thought.

A short distance from where the Starlings craft was moored, was an incongruous sight – a stockade constructed of polished tall metal palisades that had clearly not been hewn from the encroaching forest, despite the sizeable clearing nearby. A defence against the hairy Skarran natives, no doubt. The group of prisoners was ushered through a gate and into the enclosure behind the perimeter fence.

Inside was another world. The small band of captives looked around them, taking in a cluster of timber-built huts interspersed among the trees, some small, but there was one long, low hut that had obviously been constructed as some kind of laboratory judging by the equipment just visible through the windows. "Fascinating." Spock said, "This would appear to be a base of some kind, a science station, a scaled down version of one of our own scientific bases." They were given little time for speculation.

Spock and the others were ushered inside one of the buildings and led to what was obviously living quarters, a long, narrow room with a eight cots arranged in rows; they were imprisoned without further explanation. Of them all, Kravok was the least able to contain his frustration. He punched the wall of their cell and paced the room, like a captured animal. The others were no less frustrated.

"What now?" Hunter asked of anyone who was listening. Spock looked thoughtful.

Kravok hissed, impatiently, "I say we force the door now."

"And do what, Kravok?" T'Hana said, "We must think before acting rashly." Kravok was not skilled at hiding his emotions, "Bah!" he exclaimed, "The longer we wait, the weaker we will seem to our captors."

"May I?" Hunter asked, seeking Spock's consent to sit on a chair next to the farthest bunk where he had retreated to upon entering the room, still recovering from his ordeal. Spock shrugged. He was finding it difficult to think with any clarity because of his continuing pain and the discomfort of the cold, which, as a Vulcan he felt more keenly than the others. Moreover, his forays into the deepest recesses of his own mind to make sense of the traces left by Piklamer's intrusion were disturbing and exhausting.

"Any ideas, Mr Spock?" asked Hunter, studying the Vulcan. If Vulcans sigh, then Spock did so now.

"He has been inside my mind – such intimacy is not possible without leaving something of oneself behind." Spock said, quietly. Hunter nodded, but Spock sensed that he did not understand. How could he? He was not a telepath.

"Telepathy is not a one way experience - I caught glimpses of Piklamer's mind also - he has left imprints in my mind and I must seek to understand him." There was an edge to Spock's voice – he was aware of it too and inwardly questioned his motive – was it simply revenge he sought?

"I must engage Piklamer's mind as a distraction and to weaken him." He said, as though he were suggesting something commonplace. Spock marvelled at the steadiness of his voice that in no way matched his inner turmoil. The very idea of having the Starling leader inside his head again, filled him with revulsion, made him feel physically sick.

"We can't ask that of you, Spock." Hunter said.

"There is no need. It is what I must do. And besides, he will be back. I must be ready."

"What did you mean just now when you said that engaging Piklamer's mind would weaken him?"

"Piklamer is not a natural telepath. To meld his mind with mine, he required the assistance of the pen-like instrument that Nor used to torture you. Somehow, it acts as a conduit to facilitate telepathic communication. The experience exhausts him. He tried to mask it by pretending boredom."

"You believe that Piklamer will force another meld?" Spock's features tightened; he gave the slightest of nods.

"I must be ready." He repeated.

"Can you resist him, Spock?"

"I am working on that." The Vulcan answered.

Hunter raised an arm as if to lay it on Spock's' shoulder, then retracted it. The gesture reminded Spock, suddenly, viscerally, of Jim, and McCoy at once. Heacknowledged Hunter's concern with a slight incline of his head. Sometimes the intensity of this man's personality made him uncomfortable, and the last thing he needed was a torrent of emotion resulting from a sudden contact, however well intentioned.

He could not admit distractions. In his already weakened state, he could not hope to survive any future encounter with Piklamer unless he was mentally prepared. Self -doubt was illogical; Spock would not waste time or energy indulging in it but he was conscious of a nagging feeling of uncertainty about the outcome of any such meeting of minds and he did not look forward to the encounter.

"Be careful, friend." Hunter cautioned, "You have too fine a mind to risk insanity, for that surely is what would ensue from playing mind games with Piklamer."

Beneath his mask of outward composure, Spock was conflicted. The mindsifter had almost robbed him of his sanity once – endangering his mind was not a risk he wanted to take again unless the stakes were very high and logic dictated that no other course of action was viable.

"When Piklamer was in your mind, you say you caught glimpses of his mind?" Hunter asked, cautiously.

"Fragments, flashes, impressions. Nothing coherent." It occurred to Spock more slowly than it should, that Hunter was fishing for something specific. He asked,

"Mr Hunter, do you not think that it is time for you and Kort to tell me all that you know? Were you aware of the Morana's presence on Skara?" Hunter sighed.

"As I may have hinted at before, Spock there's a conspiracy surrounding Skara and the Morana – and Ravik and the Curie incident too. It goes right to the heart of Starfleet. And yes, you deserve to hear the truth."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Who sent you?" Kirk asked Leyton for the second time. His patience was wearing thin. Blackstone stepped toward Leyton again and Kirk again signalled to him to back off. Earlier, when asked what sort of a Vulcan he was, the young man had replied that he was not a good one, and he had already offered to force a mind meld with Leyton to procure the information quickly. Kirk had looked at McCoy who had shook his head, mindful, as Kirk was of how abhorrent such an act should be to Blackstone. Perhaps one day the young Vulcan would be grateful for their restraint.

Which left Kirk with the problem of how else to get Leyton to talk. In the end, it was McCoy who hit on a solution.

"He's a bounty hunter, right? He's been told to find Blackstone and bring him to whoever is paying him. If he doesn't turn up with Stephen, then the deal's off and Leyton is out of pocket. He has no reason to withhold the information other than self-interest. If we can pretend to offer him a better deal, he's likely to take it."

"Did you have something in mind, doctor?" Kirk asked, knowing exactly what McCoy was thinking. The doctor had that wicked gleam in his eye that he normally displayed when tormenting the Enterprises's First Officer.

"Weston won't like it."

"Weston can go to hell."

Weston was outraged. Kirk had confronted him with his knowledge of exactly what he had found stashed in the false bottom of the crates in the cargo hold. Kirk waited for the man's temper to burn out. Weston could rant and rave as much as he liked but he was shipping illegal goods and he didn't have a leg to stand on. In the end, he sent Hag to bring a sample of the goods from below.

Leyton's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw what Kirk was holding out to him. He took the glass vial Jim offered to him and held it up to the light, examining the contents with a critical eye.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked, incredulous. Kirk nodded.

"So what, Hopkirk– you're offering me this in return for information on my client?" Another nod. Kirk shook the vial and watched as the contents sparkled, lighting the glass from within with a thousand tiny speckles of multi-coloured light. Leyton whistled soflty. "That's classy stuff." He said. "I wish I could help you. The truth is, all I know is that the request came from someone high up in Starfleet Command. No names were given. I was asked to take Blackstone to Skara, you know, the 'forbidden planet.' Leyton eyed the contents of the vial greedily, wondering, perhaps if the scant information he had provided were enough to earn him such rich reward.

"Sorry." Kirk said, "Not enough information. He handed the vial to McCoy, who put it carefully back in the case Kirk had taken it from. Blackstone looked puzzled.

"Rocosyminite," McCoy said, watching the young Vulcan's face react. Blackstone had removed his human disguise and now looked like a younger version of Spock – with one difference; used to passing as a human for some time, Blackstone had relaxed the usual impassive Vulcan demeanour and allowed emotion to show in his face from time to time. It tickled McCoy to see outright surprise on a Vulcan face.

"One of the rarest substances in the galaxy. Its medical uses are inestimable – it forms the basis of more than a dozen anti-plague serums. It's rarity means that it's illegal to transport it for profit, but that doesn't stop unscrupulous individuals like Weston getting hold of it and stockpiling it for times when demand exceeds supply. Or to sell it for use in recreational drugs."

"You would have let Leyton have it?" Blackstone asked. McCoy shook his head. "No son, we were lying."

Kirk had the Westons confined to their quarters. Hag, he allowed to return to the bridge. Kirk had not suspected the Andorian of any involvement in the transportation of the rocosymonite, and the Westons had confirmed this. Now Kirk faced the husband and wife in their comfortable quarters,

"What have you got to say for yourselves?"

Nancy was silent. Roger Weston merely shrugged.

"You do appreciate the trouble you're in?" Kirk asked, surprised at their lack of response. "Rocosyminite is produced from one of the rarest substances in the Galaxy. It is the only known treatment for at least five known plague varieties. Buying it and transporting it is illegal without authorisation, so I have to ask, what were you intending to do with it?"

"My guess is that they were planning to store it until the next outbreak, then sell it to the highest bidder. Desperate people will buy from any source." McCoy said. Kirk glared at the Westons. Nancy had the good grace to look down, guiltily.

"We've never done anything like this before, Hopkirk, I mean, Captain Kirk. The truth is the Aurora's not as sound as she used to be and we need…"

"Enough." Kirk said, angrily, "Your selfish action could result in thousands of lives lost if there is an outbreak tomorrow in the sector you stole supplies from. How did you steal it anyway?" Kirk added. Rocosyminite was such a valuable commodity that it would have been closely guarded.

"The simple answer is that we didn't, Captain. We are the transporters only. We weren't even told what the cargo was – I assumed it was weapons. Had we known, we wouldn't have touched it." Nancy Weston said. Kirk looked from one to the other of them in exasperation,

"Then who were you transporting it for, and to where?" he asked, impatiently."

"We weren't told where it would finally end up. Our instructions were to take it to Starbase six and hand it over to a contact." Kirk sighed. It beggared belief that anyone would transport an unknown cargo, but looking at the Westons, he could almost believe them. They were an unworldly pair, probably more guilty of naivety than evildoing.

"You will remain in your quarters until I decide what to do with you." He said in exasperation.

"I don't know, Jim. I'd feel happier if that Rocosyminite were on its way to somewhere it could be of use."

Kirk had just put it to McCoy that they disable the Aurora's engines and leave the ship's occupants adrift in space until they could return and pick them up. In the meantime, he, Blackstone and McCoy would assume command of the Shadow, which was in many ways more suited to a landing on Skara; after a preliminary check, Kirk had been surprised at her superior equipment and capabilities – which owed much, he suspected, to theft and plunder.

He and McCoy were walking towards their quarters; the entire Shadow crew was bound and locked in the hold, Kirk himself having led the capture of the final crewmember who had been so startled to see them that he had had no time to draw a weapon.

"We could take it with us." The medic suggested. Kirk shook his head, rubbing his neck. "Tired, Jim?" McCoy asked. Kirk smiled. "It's been an…interesting day. The rocosyminite will be safe here – it's unlikely that any other craft will wander into this area now that we're approaching the Skarran system." McCoy nodded.

"Let's get some rest, Jim. I'll see to our cargo in the morning." Kirk nodded, suppressing a yawn. The Westons were locked down in their quarters and Blackstone had volunteered to assist Hag on the Bridge.

"Bones." Jim said, in a hesitant tone so uncharacteristic of him that it caused the doctor to look at him with concern,

"Blackstone said Spock may be in grave danger…our orders are clear and I will do everything in my power to find out what Caton is up to on Skara, but…" McCoy cut him off, knowing what his captain was struggling to say.

"I know, Jim, and with some luck, there will be no conflict of interest. Besides, Blackstone's an asset we weren't counting on having." Jim nodded, hoping McCoy was right.

Kirk had worked out the co-ordinates for a landing that would place them in the vicinity of their previous landing on Skara. In their absence, Skara had entered an autumnal phase and a blaze of colour seared their retinas as they stepped out of the Shadow into the heavily wooded landscape.

"It got colder." McCoy remarked. It was not an idle comment. Kirk knew that he was thinking of Spock's susceptibility to the cold. They were both on edge now, having come so close, not knowing what they would find.

"Pretty, though." Kirk said. McCoy nodded,

They were armed with an assortment of weapons from the Shadow and Kirk was tucking a disruptor into his belt as he spoke. Stephen Blackstone joined them, similarly armed. McCoy viewed his weapon with distaste as he too, concealed it on his person.

"The Curie's shuttle is this way, about one kilometre. " Kirk said, waving an arm in the direction he was already heading. "That's as good a place to start as any."

Seeing the crashed shuttle was almost as shocking second time around, so incongruous did it look amidst the surrounding vegetation, its rusting hull camouflaged in the glorious autumn foliage.

A cursory look around was enough to confirm that the Enterprise's First Officer had not been back there. "It was worth a try, Jim." McCoy said in a subdued voice. It had not been possible to sweep the surface of the planet in any meaningful way using the pirate vessel's crude technology. The theory was that Spock might have returned to the shuttle, if not to await rescue, then at least to leave some clue to his whereabouts, otherwise, there was no way of knowing where the Vulcan was on the planet. No one said it, but they were looking for a needle in a haystack.

"It's possible he made contact with the native population." Blackstone pointed out. "Or that he met up with the Curie survivors. I survived on Ravik after half the planet had been destroyed. Mr Spock's chances of survival here must be favourable given this world's abundant vegetation." He was attempting to lift their spirits, give them hope. Kirk and McCoy acknowledged his comments with positive ones of their own and the three headed back to their captured ship – they needed supplies if they were going to be exploring the Skarran wilderness, and the ship had a small hovercopter aboard that would transport them over the treetops – they could look for clearings or any other sign of habitation.

"Communication devices." Kirk said, tossing the others a small, communicator-like instrument. "Klingon." He smiled. The Shadow's crew had been no respecters of persons.

"Think you can fly this thing, Jim?" McCoy asked, looking at the copter doubtfully as Kirk checked out the controls, Blackstone watching on.

"Bones, Bones." Kirk said, in a wounded tone. "It's kid's play. I'm a starship captain, remember. Back in Iowa, Sam and I woulda raced these things for fun." It was the first time he had used his brother's name so flippantly for a long time, and it did not escape McCoy's attention.

"If you are in any doubt, I have had experience of flying a craft similar to this." Blackstone commented. Was it McCoy's imagination, or did he sound nervous? Kirk waved the offer aside, "These things are pretty much all the same; it's just a matter of knowing which buttons to push." Kirk's fingers darted over the console as he spoke, "However, the buttons on this model are somewhat differently arranged from what I've seen before." His last words were drowned out by a sudden jolt as the craft took a massive jerk backwards, crashing into a tree. "Hmm." Kirk said, "Must have got into reverse thrust by mistake. Let's try…" As his hand reached towards another button, Blackstone acted quickly to steer Kirk's hand to a different area of the console that Kirk had clearly missed.

"I believe this is the control you are looking for, Captain Kirk. It's easily missed." He said, tactfully. Immediately Kirk pulled on the lever, the craft lifted off the ground and hovered gracefully just above the treetops. Kirk beamed, "Like I said, gentlemen, a piece of cake."

"Spock's 'hills' sure are easier to soar above than to climb." McCoy observed, admiring the view below. A river snaked through the forest and the area around its banks was less densely overgrown. From a height, they could see that the landscape was not all forest; sporadically the canopy opened to reveal grassland and also evidence of transitional meadows where small herds of deer-like animals were grazing.

Blackstone had put together a portable scanning device that he had described as 'crude.' It would allow McCoy to distinguish between different life forms on the planet so that he could filter for Vulcan features. It could also search for weapons at the more sophisticated end of the scale from what they estimated the native Skarrans would be using. They were now looking for a bigger, more easily identifiable needle, but the haystack was still overwhelming.

The search seemed futile, the scenery stunning, if empty consolation - kilometre after kilometre of canopy, wooded hillsides and clearings in a burning collage of autumn splendour. Kirk flew as close to the treetops as he dared but if anything moved under the canopy, it would do so under a cloak of invisibility. Hours passed under the steady drone of the hoverplane's engine before McCoy suddenly jumped out of his seat in excitement.

"Down there!" McCoy pointed to a wooded hillside indistinguishable from many others. Kirk leaned forward, straining to see and thought he spotted the source of his CMO's excitement.

"I see it. I'm taking us down. A flattened area of razed and blackened woodland that could only have been made by something crashing into the trees from above. And it was recent. It was not Spock, Kirk told himself, struggling to contain his own excitement. It could only be the Klingon shuttle that they had seen hurtling towards Skara from the doomed Klingon ship.

No one spoke as Kirk manoeuvred the plane closer until they were directly above the area. There could be no mistaking what they saw below. "It's Klingon, alright. So they made it this far." Jim said, "I'm going down. We need to check it out."

"We must look for a clearing, somewhere to land safely." Said Blackstone. Seeing that he was right, Kirk pulled out of the area, with reluctance. The crashed Klingon vessel had been tantalisingly close. Did it hold any clues to Spock's whereabouts? Frustratingly, the nearest clearing was approximately twenty kilometres distant from the location of the shuttle. "A good day for a hike," said, Kirk with scant enthusiasm.

They camouflaged the plane with tree branches, but it was not possible to hide it from view completely. The native Skarrans would not be fooled. With any luck, their curiosity would be tempered by fear and they would leave well alone. That was the theory. "We'll take what we can carry with us, just in case," Kirk said, already collecting an assortment of equipment together. "Set your weapons to stun – who knows if any of those floppy-eared wildcats are prowling nearby – or Skarrans, for that matter."

Several hours of steady, purposeful hiking brought them face to face with the Klingon shuttle. Wary after his last encounter with the Skarran feral cat, Kirk clapped his hands loudly and rattled the hull with a stick, before venturing inside, closely followed by McCoy and Blackstone. "No bodies." Murmured Blackstone.

"Plenty of blood." McCoy said, grimly, sweeping the interior with his tricorder. "At least two people were injured enough to bleed out, Jim. From the amount of blood one of them lost, I don't fancy his chances." There was no hint of satisfaction in McCoy's tone, only regret – had the injured Klingon lain in the shuttle, the doctor would have tended him in the way he tended any injured person, and with the same compassion.

Blackstone was examining the shuttle's console. "I speak some Klingon." He said, his fingers zipping over the controls until they found the computer log. In horrified fascination, Kirk and McCoy listened to Blackstone's simultaneous translation of the final moments of the shuttle's harrowing escape from the doomed Klingon battlecruiser, and its descent in flames through the Skarran atmosphere to crash land in the forest.

"There were four survivors – one died from his injuries within a day of the crash. Of the others, one had fairly severe injuries, the other two, minor."

"What was their business on Skara?"

"Unknown, Captain." He wondered why Kirk and McCoy looked at him in such a peculiar way when he said it.

"It's nothing." McCoy reassured him, "You just remind us of someone, sometimes."

"We're losing the light. This is as good a place as any to spend the night." Kirk said.

"I can fix the door. It will keep the draught out." Blackstone offered.

"I'll rustle us up a meal." Said McCoy setting down his pack. The Shadow had been well stocked with foodpacks that required only the addition of boiling water – perfect fare for campers. Kirk volunteered to start a fire using a disrupter blast and some sticks and leaves. Skara's multiple moons and Kirk's fire provided light and heat as night settled around them, chill and oddly silent given the many nocturnal creatures that must be creeping in the all-encompassing forest. From nowhere, McCoy produced a hipflask and he and Jim sipped bourbon in a state of increasing contentment the emptier the flask became.

Blackstone, encouraged by McCoy, began telling them about his experiences on Ravik.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Doctor McCoy, but I remember almost nothing about the initial disaster. Some survivors have given harrowing eyewitness accounts of the events of that day, but my own memories are incomplete. I vaguely remember being thrown from my horse, Mark Hunter bending over me, looking back at the smoking ruins of the science station and knowing beyond any shadow of doubt that my parents were dead."

There was unashamed emotion in Blackstone's voice as he spoke. McCoy leaned forward. Kirk could understand his fascination with the young Vulcan. Here was proof, if any were needed, that Vulcans too were emotional beings. But, of course, they had known that all along, hadn't they? The Vulcans' ancestors had been a bellicose, lot whose unrestrained savagery and unbridled emotions had almost led them to the point of extinction. Logic and mastering how to control their emotions had saved their race. Under the veneer, they were as raw in emotion as the next Human.

He knew that it was McCoy's view that Spock, being a Human-Vulcan hybrid was at risk of damaging his mental health by suppressing (controlling was not a word the doctor favoured when it came to the healthy, cathartic release of emotion) his human impulses. He never tired of reminding Spock that he was half human and that his human half needed emotional release. Now here was a full-bloodied Vulcan choking up at the memory of his parents' death, however unconventional his Vulcan upbringing.

"Ravik as you know, was an inhospitable world on the fringes of the explored galaxy. Its people had welcomed the setting up of the science station and the benefits that its subsequent membership of the Federation conferred. They had attained space travel early in their technological development, by accident – one of those great minds born out of their time had an idea. Such minds occur in every civilisation and because of their genius, that civilisation takes a giant leap forward. The native population was, despite its space age technology, still backward in outlook. A superstitious, atavistic people with draconian customs and laws.

"When the strikes came and the planet descended into darkness and chaos, they reverted to savagery. It was, as Hunter said, 'dog eat dog.' All our communication systems were destroyed. Ravik was so distant from any Federation outpost, that the only contact we had with the outside world, was a visit every two years from a Federation starship, which delivered supplies and personnel. The strikes occurred one month after our last visit from a supply ship"

Kirk nodded soberly. The Enterprise had sometimes been assigned the duty of visiting distant colonies that were within its path, with medical and other supplies. He imagined the horror of arriving at Ravik and finding that the planet had been blasted apart.

"I was lucky. I was out riding in the hills at the time of the strike; Kort and Hunter found me before I bled to death. They could not save my leg. Kirk looked at him in surprise. McCoy nodded – he had guessed as much. "The planet was plunged into perpetual darkness. It had been tilted out of its customary orbit. Storms raged and fires blazed out of control; near the coast tsunamis struck. I am sure you know the statistics, how many were killed. Again, we were lucky; we were on Ravik's largest, but less populous continent, far from the ocean. After the strike, it was Ravik's only continent."

McCoy shivered. He had seen reports by members of the medical teams that had arrived on Ravik two years after the disaster. It had not made for pretty reading. Not only had the survivors lived in almost complete darkness for two years, they had lived in constant fear and hunger. The planet had been evacuated, its inhabitants resettled on a habitable world in Federation space where they could be rehabilitated, counselled, coaxed back to sanity. Some never recovered. A whole new syndrome 'Ravikian Syndrome' had been coined to describe their mental state. Ravik itself had been searched minutely for clues to what happened and an attack by an alien force had been suspected but never proven. It was still, as McCoy had stated earlier, one of the great mysteries of the galaxy.

"We survived day to day. Kort and Hunter took me back to the science station where there were, unbelievably some survivors. There, we had everything we needed to survive – food, water, medical supplies. Even light, which the poor wretches outside lacked. A scientist there with some training as a medic amputated my leg – it was badly crushed and he lacked the expertise to save it." Blackstone ignored McCoy's wince and continued.

"Our station was in an isolated, uninhabited part of the continent. It was six months before we started receiving visits from other survivors. We had to abandon the station – they would have killed us to take what they wanted. By then, the planet had shifted again and there was daylight for almost two hours a day. The rest of the time we had to rely on torches or firelight".

Blackstone gazed at the campfire. "Kort and Hunter saved my life more times than I can count, saved each other's lives too. The Ravikian survivors had reverted to savagery – many of them were half-crazed. Once, we fell into their hands for more than a week before we could escape." Blackstone closed his eyes. .

"It's alright, son. You don't need to tell us any more." McCoy said, kindly.

"I killed a man that week," Said Blackstone, "He was my first but not my last. I was sixteen years old, the age when Vulcans begin to learn seriously, the disciplines that will allow them to live a life in control of their emotions. I learned – other ways." He bowed his head.

"After we were rescued, I returned to Vulcan, eventually. It was necessary. I was developing strong telepathic abilities. I needed to learn the disciplines that would help me to shield. And I was troubled. I spent the next four years on Vulcan learning what I needed, but I no longer felt at home among my own people. After one has been in touch with one's emotions, so to speak, it is a hard habit to break. And so I am what you see today. Neither one thing or the other. At home nowhere."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged looks. Blackstone was nothing like their friend and yet his choice of words eerily echoed exactly those that Spock's mother, Amanda Grayson, had used to describe her son's lack of belonging in Vulcan or Human society.

"Seeing those horrors – the way people reacted under extreme conditions – the savagery, the brutality, it would almost make you believe that the Vulcans were right to drive out every vestige of emotion." McCoy commented to Kirk when Blackstone had retired. Kirk shook his head, "You of all people don't believe that, Bones." The medic shrugged and shook his head but he did not disagree.

Kirk sat by the fire until there was no warmth left and he shivered. Around him, everything was bathed in silver moonlight. He tried to imagine what it must have been like on Ravik, darkness swallowing the whole planet for weeks on end, then relenting and admitting a tantalising two hours of daylight to remind the survivors what they were missing.

He thought of what Blackstone had said about killing a man at the age of fifteen and wondered how he had accomplished such a feat. Vulcans, even adolescent ones, were strong and Blackstone had no doubt been under the tutelage of Hunter and Kort. Kort at least must have been a trained killer; he was, after all, a Klingon.

Kirk knew what it was like to be in situations where survival depended on the ability – and the willingness to kill. He shuddered in the chill night air, remembering some of those occasions –it was a harsh lesson for a fifteen year old to learn.

In the morning, not far from the Klingon shuttle, they found the remains of a dead Klingon. "You were right not to fancy his chances, Bones," Kirk said, grimly, regarding the corpse. He looked around. After so long a time, tracking the surviving Klingons would be difficult if not impossible. "Might as well toss a coin," he said heading off into the trees, following the river, more or less.

Blackstone saw them first and signalled to the others to take cover. From under the cover of some bushes, they watched as a troupe of hairy humanoids passed by, obviously on a hunting trip. They carried spears and stone axes and were clothed in animal skins. For the three men watching them, it was like being displaced in time, visiting the Palaeolithic period of their own planet and meeting the fabled cavemen face to face. "Do you think Spock encountered this lot?" McCoy asked.

"I'm sure he would find them – fascinating." Kirk answered and both men smiled. Blackstone was aware that they were sharing a memory of their friend and he looked away, scanning the surrounding area for more humanoids. As he did so, his eyes came to rest upon another set of eyes –looking out from a clump of bushes nearby. The owner of the eyes regarded him calmly and quizzically. Blackstone motioned to the others and they followed the direction of his gaze.

"Are you a friend of Mr Spock's?" The young girl asked for she had emerged from her hiding place and was staring at Blackstone. Kirk resisted the urge to rush at her and demand to know everything she knew about the Vulcan First Officer. As calmly as he could, he replied, "Yes, we're friends of Mr Spock. How do you know him?"

"My sister and I found him – he was badly hurt." McCoy stepped forward, concern in his face, "Do you know where he is? Can you take us to him?"

"The others took him."

"What others?" Kirk asked.

"I don't know who they are. We wanted to take him to Sylviana so that she could tend his wounds."

"This – Sylviana," Kirk asked, "Can you take us to her?" The girl held out a hand, trustingly. Kirk took it. McCoy whispered, "Bit young to be wandering around the woods alone, Jim, don't you think?"

The woman the girl referred to as Sylviana seemed unconcerned at seeing the child emerge from the woods with three grown men into a clearing where, strangely, she seemed to be sitting, waiting. She stepped forward to greet them showing no hint of fear. Kirk shook her outstretched hand.

"I am Sylviana." Kirk introduced himself and his companions.

"You are not from these parts, I think, Captain. There are many dangers in the Skarran woods."

"And yet, you allow your… daughter to wander alone in the forest," Kirk answered. Sylviana smiled.

"Mara and her sister, Reena can take care of themselves. I assure you, captain, they were in no danger."

Kirk looked to McCoy and Blackstone, trying to gauge their response to Sylviana. McCoy was in Southern gentleman mode, all smiles and graciousness. Blackstone was looking at them in a curious fashion, as though he did not quite believe that they were real. Something was niggling at Kirk, a hunch that came out of nowhere except a feeling that Sylviana and her daughters were not, could not be what they seemed.

Jim looked at the girl, Mara who had led them here. She was strikingly like Sylviana, beautiful, slender, fair-haired and pallid; the word that came to mind was, ethereal. Likewise her older sister, Reena, who stood at a slight distance, watching them with round, doleful eyes. If they were suddenly to dissolve into thin air, Kirk would not have been surprised. He was reminded of the fabled fairies and nymphs inhabiting the woods of Earth.

Kirk started, remembering when the landing party had first arrived on Skara and Spock had felt what he described as a 'presence' nearby. Spock and McCoy had talked about the wraiths of Talun V, insubstantial beings with no fixed form who communicated telepathically. They would still have registered on McCoy's instruments. What kind of creatures would fail to give a life reading? The word 'ghosts' formed in his mind even as he dismissed it.

"Excuse me." Jim said, "I need to speak with Dr McCoy."

"You okay, Jim?" asked McCoy, surprised.

At a distance, Kirk spoke in a hushed voice,

"As soon as you get an opportunity I'd like you to run your mediscanner over these three"

"Already tried." McCoy said, apologetically, "Darn thing must be malfunctioning. I didn't get any readings at all." Kirk stared at him.

"Run it over me." He said. McCoy complied with the request.

"Well I'll be – it's working now." He muttered. "You're perfectly normal. A little agitated."

"Bones, Bones. There's nothing wrong with your mediscanner. Think, when was the last time it failed to give you a reading when it should have?" McCoy looked perplexed. Clearly he believed that his instrument had merely been playing up. Then, the penny dropped. He looked from Kirk to where the women were conversing with Blackstone and back again, then pointed his mediscanner in their direction, hastily adjusting some controls. Kirk looked at the medic expectantly, "One perfectly healthy Vulcan." McCoy said. He looked at Kirk in disbelief, "No other life forms."

"They're not human." Kirk said, "What are they?"

"Non humans would register, Jim. They simply don't exist."

"Illusions?" Kirk said.

"As a rule, people don't see the same illusions."

"Then what?" Kirk asked, agitated. The word 'ghosts' presented itself again. McCoy shrugged, "I don't have an answer for you, Jim. I deal in flesh and blood, live beings who give me readings." The CMO stared at his mediscanner, shaking his head.

"Captain Kirk! Dr McCoy!" Blackstone's voice. Kirk and McCoy looked in his direction and saw that he was alone. They ran over.

"I cannot explain it. They suddenly began to dissolve in front of me – just vanished into thin air." All three looked around, scanning the immediate area for any sign of Sylviana and her daughters – if such they were – but they were nowhere to be seen.

"When we encountered Mara in the woods, I had not previously heard or sensed that she was there. I had heard and felt the presence of the Skarrans only. Mara must have been close by but I did not hear her. This troubled me at the time." Kirk and McCoy waited. It was obvious that Blackstone wanted to say more but was hesitant.

"Perhaps I failed to hear – or sense her as a separate being because she was one of them." He suggested, tentatively. Kirk understood his meaning instantly.

"A shape shifter?" he said. Blackstone nodded.

"Maybe so." McCoy allowed, "But that still doesn't explain why they didn't show up on my instruments. The Skarrans did. I scanned them as they walked by."

"Ghosts." Kirk voiced what he had been thinking. McCoy smiled, amusedly. Blackstone did not. "That is not as fanciful as it sounds." He said. "Ghosts or phantoms are a common element in the folklore of many cultures throughout the galaxy. However, a more rational explanation would be that they have the ability to mimic the genetic make-up of whatever creature they imitate making them indistinguishable from them."

"Can we be sure this is their world?" McCoy asked. It was a question none of them could answer.

"We have no way of knowing their intentions towards us, I advise caution." Kirk said and the others nodded in agreement.

They were losing the light. While there was still some left, they erected a tent and built a fire. All three were alert, as if expecting Sylviana or one of the girls to take shape from the shadows cast by Skara's moons. McCoy took the first watch. Kirk passed a restless few hours before taking over. George Woodhouse's story about his early friendship with Bob Caton was troubling him. It was the first time he had heard a negative comment about Admiral Caton. Stories about Caton tended to focus on his meteoric rise through the ranks, his achievements and accolades. Not a word about Caton the man. If he had left Woodhouse for dead to further his own career, that cast a long shadow over any subsequent achievements, in Kirk's book. What else might he have done to boost his career?

When Blackstone took over the last watch, Kirk asked him,

"What were Hunter and Kort working on on Ravik?"

"It was classified." Blackstone said, "But I was planning on telling you as it is probably relevant to what we are doing on Skara."

"Go on." Kirk said.

"They were working on an alien craft that had hyperwarp capacity. It had originated in a distant galaxy – this became clear when investigations were carried out as to the craft's origin." He continued,

"The craft was taken to Ravik shortly after its discovery and a team of scientists assigned to work on its power source."

"It had some kind of warp drive?" Blackstone nodded,

"Yes, but no dilithum to regulate the matter-anti-matter interchange. Instead, it had a completely unknown mineral performing that function. This mineral seemed to have other functions also that appeared to indicate that it was a key component in achieving hyperwarp" Blackstone continued,

Everything was lost in the disaster. Of all the scientists working on the project, only Hunter and Kort survived. Their work had been in the rudimentary stages – they were not even close to understanding how that alien craft was powered."

"Ravik, Curie. Kort and Hunter. Was the Curie destroyed because Kort and Hunter were on board? There's a bounty on your head, Blackstone, perhaps there was on theirs, too." Kirk was thinking aloud. Blackstone seemed about to speak, then stopped. "What is it?" Kirk asked, "Do you hear something."

"Hunter and Kort had a theory." The young Vulcan said, "Concerning Ravik" Something about his grave tone put Kirk on the alert, but the question forming in his mind seemed too obscene to ask.

"Are you about to suggest they believed that Ravik was attacked deliberately – to destroy the alien craft and the research centre?" Blackstone looked Kirk in the eyes and gave the slightest of nods.

"That is what Kort and Mark Hunter suspected."

"Makes it all seem a little less coincidental, doesn't it?" Kirk said.

"I told you that they and I have spent years following up leads, speaking to sources, putting the pieces of the puzzle of Ravik together. One name came up over and over. Admiral Ben Caton." Kirk started.

"That would make Caton a mass murderer on an unprecedented scale." He said.

"If Caton is here on Skara and your friend Spock and the others have fallen into his hands, they are in grave danger." Blackstone said. Then, seeing the look of alarm on the Captain's face, he added, "We will find him in time." Kirk nodded, hoping that his face did not betray his feelings.

In the morning McCoy woke early and saw with dismay that it had snowed in the night. It never snowed on Vulcan. McCoy now had an idea of Spock's condition and knew that wherever the Vulcan was on this world, he would also be cold. The doctor's mood was low. He had been unable to sleep after being wakened in the night and hearing Jim's theory. It was early still, not yet quite light and Jim and Blackstone were sleeping soundly in the tent. McCoy decided to stretch his legs and take a walk in the freshly fallen snow.

Cold air stabbed at his face immediately. It was at least ten degrees colder than the previous night. A snowflake landed on his cheek and dripped down like an icy tear. McCoy wiped it away. The grey sky was oppressive, still laden with pre-dawn darkness and swollen clouds ready to drop their burden of snow in an avalanche. Back on Earth the doctor had liked this early morning stillness, but on Skara, the gravid, brooding, quietness seemed unsettling, menacing even. In an effort to combat the gloom, he walked a little way but steps in any direction led inevitably into the encroaching forest with its dangers and secrets. Even with a hand covering the disruptor tucked into his belt, McCoy felt uneasy.

Was it because he and Jim were alone on this world without the thought of the Enterprise orbiting above them, Scotty standing by in case things went wrong? The fact that he had no access to a well-equipped sick-bay? He was worried about Spock that went without saying.

They had a kind of understanding, the Vulcan and he. Sure he liked to goad Spock, antagonise him, push him to the limit, but it was because he knew that Spock knew why he did it. Moreover, McCoy always appreciated when to stop, when he'd gone too far, touched a raw nerve, and if he pushed past that point, there was usually a reason. Mostly that was to force Spock to confront truths about himself.

What others might see as devilment, McCoy regarded as sound psychotherapeutic practice. Except, of course, those few occasions when he was bored, or intensely irritated by the Vulcan or when sheer devilment really was irresistible. And Spock was capable of defending himself – he gave as good as he got. The sparring between the two was becoming the stuff of legend.

On a sudden impulse, McCoy bent down and scooped up a handful of powdery snow, compressing it into a ball, which he aimed at the nearest tree. He watched, dissatisfied as it disintegrated, slipping down the bark in a silent, silvery shower.

"Good shot." Sylviana's voice, behind him. McCoy wondered how she had crept up on him without warning, then remembered – ghosts make no noise.

"Who said I was aiming for the tree?" he said, good-humouredly.

"You are up early. Couldn't sleep?" asked Sylviana. McCoy felt irritation.

"Who – or what - are you, really?" He asked. "According to my instruments, you don't exist." He looked at her squarely, challenging her to disagree. Sylviana smiled and nodded.

"I am a shape shifter. Mara and Reena are not children, nor are they my daughthers. We are this world's other sentient species. McCoy raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"The hairy creatures who are so populous on this world are more robust than we were – most of my people were killed by a virus that had no effect on them. Those of us who survived the virus were altered"

"Where is the evidence of your civilisation?" McCoy asked, suspiciously. Sylviana laughed, a tinkling, feminine sound that was as fragile as a crystal of snow.

"It is long gone, and with it most of the knowledge of my people." She said, "Some remnants remain, concealed by the forest. More often than not now we adopt the form of the the hairy creatures you call the Skarrans, and live amongst them. With our guidance, they are progressing fast. Long after my people are all gone, they will still be here."

"You said the virus changed you – in what way?" asked McCoy.

"It gave us the ability to alter our genetic make-up, to assume any form."

As she spoke, Sylviana seemed to lose substance and McCoy blinked, thinking it was a trick of the dawning light, but she was dissolving before his eyes. He cleared his throat, "I can see through you." He said, stretching a hand towards her. He was unsurprised when it passed straight through her evaporating form.

"Forgive me." Sylviana said, "I am tired, low in energy. I believe it is a condition comparable to your state of hunger. I am losing my physical form. "I require rest. Holding an unfamiliar shape for a long time can be exhausting."

This time Sylviana winked out of existence altogether and she did not come back. McCoy's unasked questions hung in the air, unanswered.

Had she told him the truth regarding her race's relationship with the less evolved hairy Skarrans? It was naïve, he knew to hope that all beings at the higher end of the evolutionary scale were benevolent towards lesser creatures. Ask any of the numerous species that had been rendered extinct by humans on Earth. Nor was intelligence any guarantee of moral superiority. Sylviana seemed to radiate a kind of goodness but how could he be sure that he was not simply being beguiled by the beauty of the physical form she had assumed?

.

McCoy walked back to the campsite, chilled to the bone. He woke the others and related what he had learned. There was no sign of Sylviana or the two girls when they left the encampment.

Like Spock, Blackstone was not made for snow and he shivered in the now freezing temperature. McCoy was cold too, and Jim was rubbing his hands together for warmth. There was warmer clothing in the hoverplane and they had little choice but to return there and kit themselves out for the weather.

"More time wasted, dammit," McCoy muttered under his breath, scowling at Blackstone, whose keen ears had picked up his words.

"We will find your friend." The young Vulcan said, reassuringly, his face revealing his compassion. McCoy held his gaze for a moment, then looked away distracted by a sound in the undergrowth. For a moment he fancied he saw a female shape begin to coalesce amidst the blazing foliage, but it must have been a trick of the light, for when he looked more closely, there was nothing there but leaves.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Hunter beckoned to Kort to join him and Spock. The Klingon had been pacing the room in frustration. He was worrying about T'Sorf, whom H'Narth had taken with him, but he came and sat by Spock and Hunter.

"Kort and I have encountered the Morana before." Hunter said. The Vulcan did not react. Hunter knew that there was no need for him to repeat his words.

. "We have not been entirely truthful with you, Mr Spock. Or, more precisely we have been guilty of omitting certain details about the past."

"Ravik?" Spock asked, conjecturing correctly.

"Ravik." Hunter replied, "Everything comes back to Ravik." Spock raised an eyebrow. Hunter looked to Kort and received a nod. "How much do you know about the work that was taking place on Ravik at the time of the attack, Mr Spock?"

"I am aware of a number of projects that were being researched on that planet. Several eminent Vulcan scientists were involved in research on various projects." At the mention of Ravik, both T'Hana and Kravok looked across. Hunter seemed not to care if they were listening.

"There was one project in particular," Hunter said, "It was not one which was shouted about too loudly, if you understand me."

Spock was unmoved. He had researched some of the projects that had been instigated on Rakik – many of these had been experimental in nature, some more fanciful than others. Much of the data relating to findings and conclusions had been lost irretrievably in the destruction of the planet. Such a great loss.

"You are referring to a classified project?" Spock asked, patiently. Hunter nodded in agreement.

"How long would it take for the Enterprise to reach even the next nearest galaxy to our own, Mr Spock, assuming that she were travelling at maximum warp?" Spock frowned – an almost imperceptible drawing together of the muscles of his forehead.

"I assume you do not require an exact calculation." Spock asked, dryly. Hunter nodded, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I would estimate thousands of years to reach the Andromeda Galaxy – thousands upon thousands to set foot in the Triangulum Galaxy by which time her entire crew would be long dead, even if the capacity for such long distance travel were conceivable, which at our present level of technological development, it is not."

"And yet such travel is not impossible – as Starship logs show, there are recorded incidences of encounters with species whose origin lies not within our own Galaxy but far beyond." Spock was unimpressed.

"Research into enhancing warp capacity has been ongoing since the concept of the warp drive was first conceived, yet hyperwarp theories remain in their infancy. May I also point out that research into space travel has not been confined to enhancing warp capacity. Other concurrent ideas include the use of wormholes…"

"Spock, our research was into what you referred to as 'hyperwarp' theories. And, as you rightly say, such theories remain in their infancy." Hunter interrupted.

"Today's dreams are tomorrow's reality, are they not, Mr Spock? Travel to the distant reaches of the Universe will not always remain beyond our reach. I believe it was one of Earth's poets who said, ' a man's reach should exceed his grasp.' Spock looked unimpressed at Hunter's platitudes. He said,

"Gentlemen, as we speak there are at least five different research projects looking into hyperwarp theories – the Enterprise's Chief Engineer consults frequently on at least two of these. I am not aware of any secrecy surrounding this area of research."

"The truth of it is Spock, we were getting close on Ravik. We had in our possession, an alien craft from a distant galaxy. At its warp core was a completely unknown crystal fuel source that had astonishing properties. And not just for use in enhancing warp drives." There was no need for Hunter to expand.

"We believe that the raid on Ravik was intended to destroy any trace of the work going on there. It may surprise you to learn, Mr Spock, that of those scientists who survived the attack on Ravik, and who had been involved in this project, only Kort and myself are still alive. Hunter paused, "Since Ravik, Kort and I have been following up leads, seeking out information, pursuing rumours and ….We are convined that the survivors of the crashed alien craft - the Morana - have contacts at the highest level of Starfleet."

"We are also suspicious about the fact that the Enterprise and a Klingon ship happened to arrive at Skara at the same time." Kort turned to Kravok and T'Hana, who were listening actively now. He asked them, "Why did the Klingon ship approach Skara?"

"We do not know the true nature of our mission. We were told it was scientific. Only H'Narth knows the truth. T'Hana said.

"And the Enterprise received an anonymous distress signal, did it not, Mr Spock?" asked H'Narth.

"Yes. The source appeared to be from a particular location on Skara but the transmission was brief and could not be retraced for confirmation. It now seems logical to postulate that the signal was a trap." Spock looked thoughtful.

"What is it, Spock?" asked Hunter.

"I believe that the Enterprise was lured to Skara some days prior to her arrival here. We had been in pursuit of another vessel of unknown origin, but probably Klingon for several weeks. It kept hovering just out of range of our sensors, on the fringes of the neutral zone and Federation space. The course that was set taking us into the Skarran system was determined by this vessel's activity." An eyebrow climbed into Spock's brow, "Captain Kirk will not be flattered to learn that he was the victim of a trick."

"They need a ship." Said Hunter, "Think about it. They lost one of their craft. They are stranded in our Galaxy and have only ordinary warp capacity." Hunter said.

"Not just any ship." Spock conjectured, "A starship."

"Piklamer said that they have business on Skara. Suppose they have reason to believe that this planet is rich in some mineral deposit or other substance that they need to restore their hyperwarp function" Kravok suggested.

T'Hana and Kravok exchanged glances. "I am a xenomineralogist. Perhaps that is why I was selected for this mission." Kravok said.

"And I have studied hyperwarp theories extensively." T'Hana said. Kort nodded.

"The unknown crystals we discovered in the hyperwarp core shared some of the properties of the rare crystal, porathium, but in other ways it was quite different."

"Porathium is a notoriously unstable substance, hence its limited use in engineering." Spock observed. "Not to mention its extreme rarity."

"I have had some success in dealing with porathium." T'Hana said.

"T'Hana is too modest." Kravok said, "She is a leading expert in her field."

Kravok looked thoughtful, "I have noticed deposits of another rare mineral on Skara. It caught my eye as I lay on the ground after being subjected to Nor's instrument of torture. I thought at first that it was miridium but it had a glitter to it, of an indeterminate colour, like gold but shot through with magenta."

"Bretinium?" Spock said, and Kravok nodded, "Saldur of Rigel VI suggested in some recent research that bretinium is a far more interesting element than previously believed – he went as far as to say that it could have a role to play in developing an alternative to dilithium crystals in warp systems."

T'Hana's eyes were shining with excitement, "I am familiar with this research. What if the mysterious crystal found in the warp core of the Moranan craft could be replicated using compound elememts - from bretinium combined with porathium?" Spock nodded, but pointed out what was, to him, an obvious flaw in T'Hana's theory,

"Even if porathium could be stabilised for such a purpose, the effect would be temporary and highly dangerous."

"Even if the Morana, have worked out a way to make these elements work together, they lack the knowledge to fit their power source to a starship engine." Hunter said.

"As do we." Spock pointed out, although his eyes sought out T'Hana's.

"As you say, it would be highly dangerous, given porathium's notoriously volatile nature." T'Hana paused, "But it could be done. I developed a stabilising technique that had some success in an initial trial. I have not had an opportunity to replicate it."

There was a hushed silence in the room as the scientists appreciated the importance of T'Hana's words.

Spock brought them all back to reality, "No doubt the Morana will be coming for you soon." He said to Kravok and T'Hana. "And you may also be of use to them, now." He said, looking from Kort to Hunter.

"Returning to your conspiracy theory," Spock said "It would seem logical to assume that whoever is in league with the Morana, is also in league with the Klingons."

"Another ship will be coming here." T'Hana said. Spock nodded. He was also anticipating the Enterprise's return, but given that the Morana intended to seize the ship, the knowledge that Jim might soon be here, was no longer of any comfort. Moreover, Spock feared that Piklamer planned to use him to blackmail Kirk into handing over the Enterprise. Kirk had once risked his career to save Spock's life. Spock knew that Jim would not put his ship and its crew at risk for any man. But knowing that he had killed his First Officer and his friend would destroy Jim, as the thought that he had killed his captain had once almost destroyed Spock.

A sudden sound from the corridor outside, alerted the captives to someone approaching. Kort made some rapid hand signals to the others who took up the positions indicated by him. Spock and the others lay over the beds, pretending to rest. Kort positioned himself behind the door. The door opened and T'Sorf was pushed roughly inside. H'Narth stood in the doorway with a Moranan guard at his side.

Moving silently from behind the door, Kort acted swiftly, bringing his fist down hard on H'Narth's arm, knocking his disruptor from his hand. T'Sorf scrambled to pick it up. With lightening speed, Kort, and T'Hana also leapt into action. T'Hana aimed a kick at the Moranan's chest and as he buckled, Kort caught his arm and wrested his weapon from him. Keeping his weapon on the Starling guard, Kort pushed H'Narth to the floor.

"Spock! You must force a mind meld with him. Obtain as much information as you can." Kort said. The Vulcan shook his head,

"I cannot." He asserted, quietly, "It is not the Vulcan way. He walked over to H'Narth, placed his fingers on the meld points, known only to Vulcans, and planted a thought in the Klingon's mind, telling him to forget what had happened and putting him into a temporary trance. The second guard shrank from Spock as he approached him. "I do not intend to harm you." Spock reassured him, moving his fingers swiftly into place as Kort and H'Narth held the guard still. Hoping that he could influence a Moranan in the same way, Spock repeated his action. The guard slumped to the floor.

"T'Sorf!" Kort took his son by the shoulders. "Did they harm you?" T'Sorf shook his head. "Father, they have a laboratory. I saw it." He turned to Hunter, "There are humans here, also."

"I say we get out of here now." Kravok urged. "If we can get over the perimeter fence we could make it to the river, seize a boat." There was a moment's indecision as they all considered Kravok's plan.

"It may be our best chance." Hunter agreed.

Outside, the Skarran darkness was lit by spotlights from its many moons. The planet's largest moon was waning but two other, smaller satellites were full and bright and the way to the perimeter fence was clear. But it was already too late. Shouts from the building warned that their escape had already been discovered.

"There's no time." Spock said, his sense of frustration palpable. "The boy could make it alone if you help him over the fence," He said to Kort. Kort looked at his son in anguish; having just lost and found him twice over, he was reluctant to let go of him again, but he nodded, signalling to Kravok to help him. The others prepared to fend off the Moranan guards.

"Quickly, T'Sorf. His father said.

"I am ready," T'Sorf anwered. Kort looked at his son, anxiously.

"Remember, when you clear the fence, take a boat and follow the flow of the river. Look for distinctive landmarks that you may recognise. T'Sorf nodded, impatient to be gone. "Be wary of the Skarrans." Kort added. T'Sorf nodded again, breathing in deeply to strengthen his resolve.

"Wait!" Kravok said. "Take this." He pulled a small but deadly looking knife from his boot, saying, "It is a tajtiq, a traditional Klingon blade." T'Sorf looked to his father for approval and received a brief nod.

Without wasting any more time, Kort and Kravok used their hands to lift T'Sorf upwards against the fence until he was able to grasp the top of the posts and pull himself over. "I can see the boats." The boy whispered. "They are unguarded." He lowered himself down the other side of the fence and ran towards the river.

"_Qapla, puq_." Kort said, though he knew that T'Sorf was already out of earshot. He felt a slight pressure on his arm and realised it was Kravok, pulling him away. "Come away from the fence – they may not notice that T'Sorf is missing immediately."

As the Moranan guards approached, Kort fingered the disruptor he had wrested from H'Narth, and Hunter levelled the pen-shaped weapon, but it was obvious that they were outnumbered and there was no cover. Nor stepped to the fore of the group of guards and with him was a man, a Human whom Nor held close to his chest, an arm circling his throat. Nor's weapon was fixed on the man's head.

"Do any of you recognise this man?" he asked. Only Kravok and T'Hana shook their heads, but even they could tell from the man's uniform that he was a high-ranking Starfleet officer, retired . "Surrender your weapons or he dies now!" Kort and Hunter exchanged looks, Spock noted.

"Gentlemen, you must do as he asks or Admiral Caton will die." The Vulcan prompted. Still, the two hesitated.

"The Admiral is in no danger." Hunter said, quietly, his eyes never leaving Caton's. Spock understood instantly.

Caton released himself from Nor's hold, "Forget it Nor, they're not fooled. Mr Kort and Mr Hunter, I presume?" he said, looking the two up and down and nodding, "Yes, I recognise you now." Turning to Spock, he said, "And the inestimable Mr Spock, First Officer aboard the Starship Enterprise. I had hoped to make your acquaintance several weeks ago along with your captain's, but ion storms have a way of hijacking the best of plans."

Kort and Hunter kept their weapons trained on Caton. "You are outnumbered, gentlemen and the disruptor has already been disabled by Nor's terlak." Caton said, indicating the pen-shaped weapon in Nor's hand. Kort's look of disbelief quickly turned to anger as he tried to fire a blast from his weapon and found it inactive. Nor levelled his terlak at Kort leaving Hunter with no choice. With an apologetic glance at Kort, he tossed his terlak to the ground.

Spock was analysing the situation. If Admiral Caton were one of the links in the higher echelons of Starfleet, then he had already tried to hunt down Kort and Hunter and kill them. Why would he spare them now? Perhaps he was of the opinion that they might now be of use to him. At any rate he was unlikely to order their execution immediately.

"I look forward to conversing with you, gentlemen." Turning to T'Hana, he said, "And lady. Especially you. Always a pleasure to meet one who is the lead in their field." T'Hana's eyes burned with hatred, and for a moment Spock thought that she would spit at Caton, but she managed to restrain herself.

"And you, Mr Spock. A great scientific mind also. A man who turned down the Vulcan science academy to serve with humans. Piklamer tells me of your great loyalty to your captain, your deep affection for him and Dr McCoy. Spock remained stony faced, saying nothing. He forced himself to think of T'Sorf. By now he would be in the boat, navigating down river. The longer Caton amused himself by baiting them, the greater the boy's chance of escape.

"I regret that you must return to your quarters. It is a pleasant night for a walk in the forest, but for you that is not presently an option. I will see that you are provided with food and drink and in the morning we will talk more." Caton signalled to the guards who closed around the captives, forcing them to retrace their steps to the hut they had been held in before their escape. H'Narth was standing outside the door to their prison, leaning against the wall, rubbing his temples. He scanned the group as they filed past him into the room. Frowning, he made as if to speak but no words came. His eyes were empty of recognition.

"Spock! What did you do to H'Narth? He didn't know us. He didn't even notice T'Sorf wasn't with us." Hunter asked. Spock looked all innocence,

"I merely suggested that he forget everything that has happened since his arrival on Skara. His memory will return gradually. We are fortunate that Nor and the others failed to notice T'Sorf's absence." Kort looked worried.

"There are many dangers in the Skarran forest." He said. Hunter put a hand to his friend's shoulder, "T'Sorf's a resourceful young man. He will find his way to the shuttle. We must hope that Captain Kirk will be there.

Kort saw T'Hana look at Kravok. He knew what they were thinking. What if the Klingon ship reached Skara ahead of the Enterprise and the Klingons intercepted T'Sorf's signal first? At least T'Sorf was Klingon in appearance. He could lie about the rest.

"One named Spock!" Nor's voice, impatient. "Piklamer would speak with you again." The delay in Spock's getting to his feet was caused by a sudden bout of coughing that left him bent over double and gasping for breath. If Vulcans could be said to have a vulnerability, it was their susceptibility to chest complaints. Not a problem in the dry heat of their own world, but on planets such as Skara where the temperature dropped below what was comfortable for the average Vulcan, and there was a dampness to the air, a potentially serious hazard. As Spock was finding to his discomfort. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hunter shift instinctively to aid him, then draw away.

"Take care, friend." He said. Spock nodded, but Hunter could tell that his mind was preoccupied. The Vulcan was preparing himself mentally for Piklamer's interrogation.

Piklamer's quarters were bathed in a soft red light.

"I trust I have created the right ambience to put you at your ease, Mr Spock. You showed me last time we spoke, some glimpses of your home world, of your quarters aboard the Enterprise. Spock made no comment. He was fighting the anger the room's 'ambience' provoked, for Piklamer had taken the images he spoke of from his memories, uninvited. The Skarran toxin pulsed in Spock's veins heightening his emotions and compromising his attempts to compose himself into a state of readiness for the Moranan's assault. Dealing with his emotions was a complication that he could do without. Unless, Spock thought, with sudden insight, he could use his emotions to his advantage.

Piklamer approached. This time Spock was in no doubt of the Moranan leader's intention. Piklamer wasted no time. He advanced on Spock raising his terlak to the Vulcan's forehead. The muscles in Spock's face and neck tightened in anticipation. Emptying his mind of everything but the disciplines that he had been taught, Spock raised his shields against Piklamer's onslaught, deflecting his intrusive probing. He was aware of Piklamer grunting with impatience and for a moment the terlak was withdrawn as the Moranan adjusted its settings.

Counting on the element of surprise, Spock dropped his guard as Piklamer approached him for the second time. He would be expecting resistance or compliance, but not what Spock had planned for him.

Slowly, Spock let down the wall that he had built up to protect himself from the Skarran toxin, allowing the darkness of is insanity-inducing poison to flood out and overwhelm his adversary. He hurled the darkness inside him at Piklamer, blinding him with it. Piklamer's face contorted in agony and Spock experienced an unashamed moment of triumph as he felt the Moranan's defences come crashing down. Immediately, he steeled himself for the backlash.

Piklamer's retaliation was swift and ferocious. Spock resisted for what seemed like an eternity, enduring wave after wave of the Moranan's poisonous hatred, countering each new wave by deflecting it back on its creator. He felt the Moranan's fury, his shock, his disbelief and outrage. "_You dare do this to me, Vulcan?_"

Spock knew he could not hope to maintain his resistance against the Moranan for long. How long since he had left the others? Ten minutes? Fifteen? He was weakening, straying into thoughts that he must keep hidden. Just as Spock feared he could hold out no longer, a sudden, white flash obliterated all thoughts between the two men and Spock careened backwards, crashing to the floor.

It was not the force of another onslaught from Piklamer that thrust him off balance, but the opposite, the sudden, unforeseen withdrawal of the Moranan from his mind. So intense had their connection been that Spock had felt its severance with all the violence of a physical blow. Dazedly, the Vulcan looked to his opponent.

Piklamer was lying on his side, his head bent to his chest, clearly in distress. Rasping, laboured breaths betrayed his physical state. He was exhausted. Still he rallied enough to fix Spock with a look full of intense hatred, "_Get him out!" _He screamed, unable to do more than threaten. "_Get out! Nor, attend me!_" As he half-staggered, half-crawled out of the Moranan leader's quarters, Spock noticed the look of utter astonishment on Nor's face, as the man lunged past Spock and his guard, pushing them aside in his haste to reach Piklamer.

"Wait!" Piklamer cried, and the guard supported the exhausted Vulcan as they waited to hear what the Moranan leader had to stay. Piklamer dragged himself to his feet and crossed the room to Spock's side. He shoved the guard aside and Spock collapsed to the floor. Piklamer loomed above Spock, one foot resting on the Vulcan's chest, asserting his physical presence after his mental defeat.

"If you were not of use to me, Vulcan, I would kill you now for what you just did, but we are close to finding our way out of this god-forsaken galaxy and you are going to bring us what we need. You will not catch me unprepared again, one named Spock. And you will co-operate next time, or that fine mind of yours will be left in shreds."

"Spock!" Hands reached out to him as he fell forward. Too many hands. Touching him. Too many thoughts, sensations, cannot shield.

"Wait! Leave him. Our emotions are overloading him."

_Hunter's voice. Where is Kirk? Why does he not come? _"Jim!" Spock cried aloud, his voice raw with emotion.

"He's confused. He thinks you are his captain." Kort said to Hunter.

"Spock." Hunter said, steadily, then waited.

"Help me, Jim!" Spock said.

"Spock, it's Mark Hunter. Do you recognise me?" The Vulcan fixed on Hunter's face, struggling to make sense of his features – they kept rearranging themselves. "McCoy?"

"No, not McCoy. Hunter."

Spock's eyes swept wildly around the room, taking in each of its occupants in turn, then, his eyes closed and he slipped from consciousness.

"Has he lost his mind?" Kravok asked, moving to where Spock lay, unresponsive on the bed. Hunter did not have an answer for him.

Author's note – I hope the scientists among you will not be too offended by the made up science in this chapter. Aurelan


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Jim! Are you okay? What is it?" McCoy's concerned face hovered over Kirk as he straightened up from the shock that had just made him bend over as if he'd been struck a physical blow.

"I'm alright, Bones," Kirk answered, shakily, not at all sure that he was. How to explain to his CMO that Spock had just been inside his head sending a distress signal like a bolt of electricity through his brain? Of course, he didn't need to.

"It was him, again, wasn't it?" The medic asked, grimly. Kirk nodded.

"Same as before?"

"No."

"Is he…" McCoy faltered on the word.

"He's alive, Bones." McCoy nodded.

Spock had explained it to them once. Sometimes a mind link between individuals left them with a permanent connection that was unbroken even when they were apart. An awareness of another's mind that was usually dormant, but which in moments of extremity allowed telepathic communication sometimes over vast distances. Spock had melded his mind with Kirk's on more than one occasion – intensely enough for the connection to become permanent.

Distressing as it was to know that his friend was in pain, crying out for help, at least Kirk knew that he was still alive. Spock had once told him that though he would be, for the most part, unaware of the link on a conscious level, he would feel its absence keenly. Kirk had had no notion of what the Vulcan meant by that, never having made or lost such a connection before, but he trusted Spock's word. Only later had the truth of what Spock meant dawned on him – he would feel Spock's death as keenly as losing a part of himself.

McCoy was referring to a few days ago when Kirk had buckled under a similar sensation. He had felt that he was suffocating, drowning, and had alarmed the doctor by gasping for every laboured breath until as suddenly as it had struck him down, the sensation had abruptly ceased. McCoy hadn't batted an eyelid when Kirk told him that Spock had almost drowned, only muttered, "Time that damn fool Vulcan learned to swim."

This time it was different. This time Spock was not going under, he was being torn apart from within.

McCoy did not know what to say. He had been described as a cynic in his time, but those who knew him well knew him to have an open, searching mind, a great scientific intellect that was not closed off to the possibility of phenomena beyond rational explanation. And besides, Spock believed mind links to be an integral part of the mysterious Vulcan psyche. If Spock could vouch for this peculiar brand of psychic mumbo jumbo, then who was an old country doctor like McCoy to argue?

"What now, Jim? Every hour we delay brings Spock closer to meltdown." Kirk shook his head, exasperated. "Sorry, Jim. I know that you know that, and I can only imagine what it's like for you hearing him cry for help like that." The doctor reached into an inside pocket and brought out a bottle of bourbon; it was the best comfort he had to offer his friend under the circumstances. Kirk took the bottle and swallowed a good slug, grateful for its burning comfort.

Blackstone was already asleep. It was a pitch black night, Skara's multiple moonlight blotted out by heavy cloud. The dense, unforgiving forest pressed in around them, intensifying the sensation of gloom affecting the two Starfleet officers as they sat beside the dying embers of what had been a roaring fire. Neither stirred to poke its last remains back to life and presently they were in total darkness. McCoy roused himself and flicked on a flashlight, which he used to find his weapon and aim it at a moss-covered mound that he hoped was rock. It glowed white hot then cooled rapidly to a comforting orange glow.

"I've lost count of the number of times he's saved my life." Kirk said.

"Saved my ass plenty times too." McCoy drawled, adding, to balance things out, "Patched up his bony Vulcan ass too a time or two." Kirk grinned his lop-sided grin, cheered by the whiskey and McCoy's exaggeratedly elongated vowels. There was a direct correlation between the amount of liquer his CMO consumed and the purity of his Georgian accent, but Kirk knew that McCoy was also making a deliberate attempt to lift their mood.

"Tomorrow's another day, Jim. I'm going to get me some shut eye."

McCoy succumbed quickly to sleep but Kirk lay awake, frustrated that he could not plan for what lay ahead. Blackstone was convinced that the trail he, Hunter and Kort had been following since Ravik, ended here, on Skara.

It seemed incomprehensible to Kirk that a high-ranking Federation admiral could be a Klingon spy. What could have been his motivation? How had he cheated the raft of psych evaluations he would have undergone at the Academy? How far back did his association with the Klingons go? Kirk hated unanswered questions.

He thought back to what George Woodhouse had told him about his near death experience on Vascus, right back at the beginning of his – and Caton's – career. The two men had passed through the Academy together, had served together. Woodhouse had trusted Caton once; more, he had regarded him as a friend. What had happened to make Caton betray a friend and turn against everything that he believed in?

Uncomfortably, Kirk considered that he had only George Woodhouse's suspicions to go on – what if the man were wrong? Blackstone and his associates had not identified who in Starfleet was involved in the conspiracy. Except time and again, Caton's name kept coming up connecting what were otherwise a series of coincidences. If Blackstone were to be believed, Caton had been to Ravik days before the attack; he had been in the vicinity of the Curie and he was involved in the top secret research being carried out on Skara. Kirk tossed and turned.

"Captain Kirk." Blackstone's voice. Kirk sat up and looked over at the young Vulcan. In a whisper, he apologised for waking him up.

"I have been resting, not sleeping." Blackstone assured him. "I heard you and Dr McCoy talking. Please understand, Captain, that as a Vulcan, Mr Spock has vast inner reserves to call upon to keep him sane. From what you have told me about him, I feel sure that he is strong enough to survive both the Skarran poison and whatever assault his ememies may throw at him."

"Spock is half human." Kirk said, mindful of McCoy and how angry he seemed to become when Kirk took Spock's resilience for granted. Blackstone was trying to reassure him in the way that Kirk would McCoy. Hearing these words from Blackstone put Kirk strangely out of kilter, as though he were seeing Spock suddenly from McCoy's point of view, and he was far from reassured.

"Goodnight Blackstone." He said, ending further conversation, no doubt offending the young Vulcan with his abruptness.

They found the hoverplane undisturbed where they had left it under its camouflage of leaves. At least it seemed undisturbed until they opened the door and climbed inside. Kirk saw him first and drew his disrupter, instinctively responding to the Klingon features of the figure crouched in the hold. But there was something different about this Klingon – he was slightly built for one thing and he was not in uniform. Still aiming his weapon, Kirk walked towards him and commanded, "Get up!" The Klingon stared at Jim, his face fearful.

"Why he's just a boy, Jim." Said McCoy with obvious surprise. "I don't think he's armed." Slowly and with some reluctance, Kirk lowered the disruptor.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The boy was still staring at him.

"Your name is Jim. Are you Jim Kirk and Dr McCoy, Mr Spock's friends?"

"Who are you?" Kirk asked again, impatiently, "What do you know about Spock?"

"Easy, Jim. He's just a kid, and he's hurt." McCoy cautioned.

"My name is T'Sorf." The Klingon boy said, struggling to stand.

"Take your time, son." McCoy said, instinctively moving closer to him, mediscanner whirling. For a moment it seemed that the boy was too overcome to continue; fear and the desire to regain control played out in the contortions of his face.

"We were captured by the Morana. Mr Spock said to look for you, that you would come. He was right. You must help them. Piklamer means to kill Mr Spock, I am sure of it."

T'Sorf's words poured out in an excited torrent. McCoy noticed that the young Klingon was shaking, "Easy son," but T'Sorf swayed on his feet, then fell forwards to be caught, unceremoniously by Kirk's disruptor-free arm.

McCoy knew something of Klingon physiology and he administered a hypo to the boy's arm, which brought him round. "I'm Dr McCoy." He said, gently, and this is Captain Kirk. We are Spock's friends. What can you tell us about him?"

They listened as the boy told his story, McCoy frowning as T'Sorf described Spock's physical condition. When he had finished, McCoy offered him some food, suspecting that he had fainted half from hunger.

After he had eaten and before Kirk would let him rest, T'Sorf told them how he, Hunter and Kort had found Spock, unconscious in the forest, how they had captured the survivors of the Klingon wreck and in turn been made captives of Piklamer.

As T'Sorf ate, Kirk paced and quizzed the doctor. "Sounds like Spock's managing to control the effects of the toxin, Jim, but it must be an enormous drain on his resources. From what the kid says he's in more immediate danger from his captors." Kirk nodded.

"Can you take us to the encampment?" he asked T'Sorf, fighting back his frustration as the boy stood up and turned in a slow, uncertain circle, scanning the forest, his face shadowed with doubt. Other than a vague sense that he had followed the direction of the river since abandoning his boat, he seemed to have no idea where he had come from.

"Nothing looks familiar." T'Sorf said, in despair, "Everything looks the same, trees and clearings, it's all alike."

"Don't pressure him." McCoy warned in a whisper as he saw Kirk's impatience mount, "He's trying his best." Jim nodded in frustration. He needed to move on, to act. When the boy's hunger had been satisfied and McCoy had treated his wounds, which were superficial, the doctor certified him fit to walk.

As they walked, Kirk found himself thinking of Sylviana and her two daughters, if daughters they were. If they were natives of Skarra, they could help, but they had quite literally vanished into thin air. "Blackstone." He called to the young Vulcan who was striding ahead, setting a pace. Blackstone slowed and waited for the others to catch up. "When we first arrived on this planet, Spock was aware of a presence close by, which may or may not have been Sylviana. I know Vulcans are touch telepaths, but can you reach out to her somehow, make her understand that we need help?"

Blackstone looked amused, though his lips did not form into a smile. It was a look that Spock often adopted and which sometimes signalled his patient and amused indulgence of his human counterparts' ignorance. "That's not quite how it works, Captain Kirk." Blackstone answered, "Sometimes, as you have experienced yourself, individuals may reach out to each other over a distance, but I have had no previous connection with Sylviana – and if she is a skilled telepath, she may block my attempts." Kirk sighed,

"Indulge me." He said. "Put out some feelers."

"Feelers, Captain?" Blackstone asked, quizzically, his expression stonily Vulcan. Then he did smile, and Kirk realised that he was being teased. Come back, Spock. He thought. At least his First Officer was reliably easy to read. Blackstone was a new variety of Vulcan.

"I will do my best, Captain, but please don't expect too much." Kirk nodded. At that moment, his expectations were pitched somewhere between zero and a place far below.

They carried on, Blackstone frowning as though he were deep in concentration. McCoy was not convinced that it was a wise strategy. "They seemed friendly enough, Jim, but we have no idea what kind of beings they really are." "Sylviana said that maintaining her corporeal form was exhausting." Kirk said, his mind working.

"That's what she said, Jim."

"Throughout the course of our mission, we've encountered other beings that appeared to possess no constant physical form."

"Sure Jim, but Organians apart, I can't think of any who were pure energy. Having the ability to change shape or form is not in itself that unusual. There are several races which have the ability to a greater or lesser degree. Altering your molecular structre is theoretically…"

"Bones, Bones, you're starting to sound like Spock,"

"I'll take that as a compliment - Spock has an excellent scientific mind."

"Why would Sylviana make the effort to appear in physical form at all if it's so draining? She must have been highly motivated to make contact."

"Odd that she should have shown herself to Spock and us but not Kort and Hunter."

"We don't know that for sure. We only have T'Sorf's word for it and he may not have been kept in the loop."

Kirk had quizzed T'Sorf about Skara's inhabitants and the boy had seemed surprised at the suggestion that the hairy humanoids might not be the planet's only native inhabitants. He had told them that Spock spoke of being found by two young girls, but that Kort and Hunter assumed that he had been hallucinating as a result of the toxin in his bloodstream.

"It would make sense that they contacted Spock – as an esper, his mind would be more receptive to telepathic communication reducing the need for physical manifestation."

"Except that Spock could sense their presence, but that was all, initially. They had to take physical form for him to see and hear them, if what T'Sorf said was true. Even so, their appearance was brief."

"And they appeared to us because Blackstone was with us and they could sense our concern for Spock?"

"That would be a reasonable assumption."

"Maybe they made contact because they need help."

"In which case, Sylviana would be willing to help us in return."

It was when they stopped to rest, that Blackstone had a breakthrough. "Did you hear that?" he asked, bounding to his feet. Kirk, instantly alert, was on his feet a heartbeat behind the Vulcan, "What is it Blackstone? What did you hear?" Blackstone shook his head, "Maybe it was the wind. I thought I heard something moving in the trees." He shuddered, still looking around.

"Is it them?" Kirk asked in a lowered voice.

"I do not know. Perhaps. I feel that we are not alone."

"A presence." That's how Spock described it." Aloud, he said, "Sylviana! If you're here, show yourself to us. We need your help." They stood quietly, waiting, hearing no sound but their own heartbeats, raised in anticipation. Then, from the undergrowth, came the sound of heavy footsteps on the forest floor, branches weighty with leaves being pushed aside, and into their clearing stepped a Skarran, tall and hairy, but unarmed and holding its hands in the air. Kirk and McCoy instantly felt for their weapons, but Blackstone cried, "Wait!"

"Sylviana?" Kirk asked questioningly.

"Yes. The same." Came the astonishing reply.

"Forgive me, but your appearance is.." Kirk was lost for words.

"This is the form that I am more accustomed to adopting. To assume the form that you know as Sylviana is an exhausting process."

"Who are you, really?" Kirk asked, his tone brisk, "Where are you from?" With an apologetic look in McCoy's direction, Sylviana sighed and said,

"From the fourth planet in the Skarran system."

"That planet is no longer inhabited."

"A combination of natural disasters and our own excessive exploitation of our world, destroyed it. A few of us survived, made it to Skara. We have lived alongside the native Skarrans, sometimes assuming their form, sometimes our own. We have made no mark on their world, Captain Kirk – our code here has been one of non-interference because of the virus we carry. It had been our hope to find a cure and align our destinies with theirs but our numbers are few now."

"You mean mate with them." Declared McCoy. "That would change them, interfere with their DNA, quite probably turn them into a sterile, hybrid race." The big Skarran, previously known as Sylviana – the name seemed singularly inappropriate now - shook its large, hairy head.

"We share the same genetic code as the Skarrans. It has been suggested that the same people who brought life to Skara also brought it to the fourth planet, but that we developed at different rates. The Skarrans remained primitive whereas we built civilisations."

"A question." Kirk said, "You were close by when our landing party arrived on Skara. Why didn't you show up on our instruments?"

"We are telepaths, Captain. We merely suggested to you that your instruments were recording nothing. Mr Spock was troubled because he could sense our presence and his tricorder readings and sense of logic conflicted with what he was feeling. I regretted causing him to doubt himself but I could not risk revealing myself to you when I knew so little about you."

"And – now you know all about us?" Kirk said, harshly, not comfortable with the knowledge that Sylviana and her people might have been reading their minds.

"Like the Vulcan race, we respect other people's right to a private inner life, Captain. However, it is difficult not to absorb your thoughts when you make no attempt to shield them, as Vulcans do."

"Did Blackstone summon you with his thoughts?" Kirk asked.

"We have been tracking you since our meeting. For your protection. Our Skarran friends are hostile to other life forms. In time they will learn that not all beings are their enemies." As she spoke, Sylviana began to dissolve before them, her body remoulding itself into her more familiar shape. "Let us see you as you really are." Kirk said.

"As I said, we have no permanent form; we are constantly shifting, changing. It is the only way we know to conserve energy. For some reason, perhaps because the Skarran native form was once our own, this is the least draining to maintain."

"Sylviana." Kirk said "Can you help us find our friend?"

"I tried to warn him, but it was too late. He was taken along with the others." Sylviana said.

"Taken where?" McCoy asked, urgently. Sylviana shrugged, "To the encampment where the others are."

"How far to the encampment, Sylviana?" Kirk asked, impatient.

"At your speed, two days."

"You can get there faster?"

In this form, no. As a bird, yes." Kirk rolled his eyes. Why had the human race not evolved with such advantages? He gestured for Sylviana to lead the way.

As they walked, Kirk said, "Sylviana, your restraint, your respect for Skara and its inhabitants is commendable." Kirk paused, "We have reason to believe that the people holding our friend have an entirely different way of seeing things. If we are right about who they are and what they are here for, they will stop at nothing to exploit this planet's resources. They will show no mercy to anyone who stands in their way." Without meaning to, Kirk glanced over at T'Sorf who was standing with his head bowed as though the sins of the whole Klingon race rested on his shoulders.

"They have already killed some of the Skarrans." Sylviana said, sadly. "We try to warn them, but they have a very limited spoken language. Projecting feelings of fear to instigate a fight or flight response seems to work best. And the Skarrans have learned not to hunt near the enclosure."

"How long have these strangers been here, Sylviana?" Kirk asked.

"Not long. Two Skarran summers." Blackstone did some rapid calculations and said, grimly, "A month after Ravik."

"Looks like you were right, Blackstone. Jim, if this has something to do with the hyperwarp and that Klingon warbird wasn't here by accident, then Admiral Caton, if he is here, is about to hand that knowledge over to the Klingon Empire." McCoy had just voiced the unthinkable. "Think what that would mean. He has to be stopped."

Kirk's mind was awhirl. How far behind them was Scotty with the Enterprise? A day? Two days? More? Another battlecruiser was almost certainly on its way to carry the hyperwarp back to the Klingon Emprie. Why had the Enterprise been lured to Skara in the first place? The hyperwarp could be fitted to the Klingon ship. Was it for the Morana - to provide them with a class of ship that could accommodate the hyperwarp? And the Klingons had been invited along, both to receive the hyperwarp and to ensure that the Enterprise was disabled and handed over to the Morana. If that were the case, then Kirk wanted his ship as far away from Skara as possible, but Scotty was under orders to rendezvous there at the earliest opportunity.

Kirk saw something akin to dismay on McCoy's face and knew that, like him, the doctor was acutely aware that there was a lot more at stake than the life of the Enterprise's First Officer. It was not a comforting thought.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

There was a sound from Spock's bunk. The others turned to look. Spock had dragged himself to a sitting position and was now attempting to stand. Hunter crossed the room to restrain him.

"Easy, friend. I don't think that's such a good idea." Spock's look was fleetingly one of exasperation before he composed his features into the familiar Vulcan mask.

"I assure you, I am quite able to rise, Mr Hunter. I have spent some hours in restorative meditation."

"Well you don't look restored to me, Spock. Far from it." Spock suddenly understood why humans rolled their eyes when they were exasperated. For a moment, he almost made the gesture himself. Hunter was correct in his observation; Spock's 'restoration' was not complete and he was more than ever concerned about losing control. Exasperation was an emotion that, under normal circumstances he could master without effort, without thinking. Right now, keeping it in check was taking every scrap of energy he possessed.

He sank back onto the bunk. Suddenly, the emotion welling up inside him was no longer exasperation; it was anger. In a flash, Spock was on his feet, his hand around Hunter's throat, propelling the man across the room slap into the wall. Relinquishing control was liberating; energy suddenly charged through him fuelling the madness induced by the Skarran's toxin.

"Spock!" The Vulcan ignored Kort's cry as he squeezed his hands tighter around Hunter's throat, choking the life out of him even as his victim's eyes stared back at him in stricken disbelief.

Not since the moment when the knowledge of Kirk's death had freed him from the tortuous fever of the Pon Farr had Spock felt such a cathartic mix of horror and release. Kort and Kravok pulled him away.

As Kort bent to revive his friend, Kravok stepped between them to restrain Spock, but the Vulcan was no longer a threat. He stood, swaying, his internal struggle to suppress the surging madness, visible only as intermittent muscle spasms in his otherwise severe facial expression. If Kirk or McCoy had witnessed this, they would have been alarmed, but to those who knew him less well, Spock's facial tics revealed little of his anguish.

"Forgive me." He uttered, the deep voice hoarse, "I am not…myself." He stared at Hunter unsure whether he had choked all life out of the human, until a rasping cough allayed his worst fears.

Helped by Kort, Hunter sat up. Despite his obvious discomfort, he looked at Spock, seeking to reassure him, "Next time you tell me you're restored, I'll take you at your word," he said. Kort was less forgiving.

"You almost killed him." He said, "The poison is consuming you."

"Technically, what you say is true, but I can control it. This regrettable incident was due to a momentary lapse in concentration. I should have been aware that emerging from a semi-meditative state might lead to delayed processing. It will not happen again."

"We can't be sure of that. I say we restrain him." Kravok said. Hunter shook his head. "If Spock says he can control it, that's good enough for me. We have more urgent matters to attend to."

"Indeed." Spock said, "I believe that the Morana plan to come for T'Hana soon."

" Can Piklamer find out what he wants to know by reading her mind using the terlak?" Kravok asked.

"We must assume that T'Hana has no defences against him. She is not a telepath and has had no training in resisting intrusive incursions from the minds of others."

"Then the answer is, yes." Kort said.

"I believe that is what I just said," Spock replied, "However, there is a difference between looking into the mind of another and gaining an impressionistic overview of their thoughts and emotions, and being able to filter through all of that to obtain precise information."

"What do you mean?" Kravok asked.

"I mean that 'mind-reading' is a deplorably inaccurate term, but that it does describe what Piklamer would need to do in order to extricate the scientific formulae from the chaos of T'Hana's other thoughts. In short, he would need to sift through her mind and read the contents almost as one does digital data."

From the look on their faces, Spock could tell that they partially understood what he was talking about. It had been easy for Piklamer to pick up on Spock's complicated interpersonal relationships, the mixture of loyalty, friendship and affection that he felt for Kirk and McCoy and other important figures in his life. Memories too, were impressionistic. What would be less simple for the Moranan to access was the knowledge T'Hana had acquired from years of study –capturing the detail would be still more elusive. Still, Piklamer was skilled in the use of the terlak as an instrument to magnify his own psychic gifts.

"There are of course other means of obtaining such information." Said Kort.

"T'Hana would die rather than reveal what she knows to H'Narth, even under torture." Kravok asserted. Kort was less than convinced, "Are you sure of that, Kravok? Do you know this woman well enough to say how deep her loyalty to the Empire runs?" T'Hana was incensed,

"I speak for myself, Kort. It is true that in the past I have been conflicted, but Kravok knows that I share his sympathies. I am a scientist first and foremost. I have long spoken out on the madness of Klingon scientists working in isolation, distancing themselves from Federation scientists because of their belligerent attitude to other races. For this I was almost expelled from the Klingon Science League."

"It is true. When I lay babbling in my fever about the resistance to the Empire, T'Hana warned me to be wary of H'Narth. She did not betray me. I feel sure that, like you and I, Kort, T'Hana can see a different way."

"Then we must hope that you are right, Kravok." Was Kort's only reply. T'Hana glared at Kort, clearly angered by the way that he spoke of her as though she were not in the room. Spock listened, thinking.

In his conversations with Kravok, the Klingon had explained that his own disloyalty to the Empire ran deep. His elder brother, Varron, who had died in the crash on Skara, had influenced him but only when he had seen Kravok begin to question things. Kravok had made his own choices.

It had come as no secret to Spock to learn that the Klingon Empire was not rock solid from the highest echelons of Klingon High Command to the lowest orders. Klingon was a society bound by tradition and a code of honour that was unfathomable to those born outside its rigid boundaries. Kort had explained much to Spock, but there was a great deal more that remained shrouded in mystery.

Kravok, like Kort, had wrestled with his beliefs but they both felt in their hearts that the Klingon code of honour did not automatically sanction the disregard and aggression that the current reigning elite practised on other cultures, other worlds. It merely reflected the present rulers' interpretation of that code.

T'Hana was of the same mind as Kort and Kravok. She was a scientist and she was curious about the wider scientific community that she could be a part of were the Klingons not held in near universal contempt throughout the galaxy. And, there was one big factor that could tip the balance of T'Hana's loyalty – she had feelings for Kravok – and he for her.

Last night, in a whispered conversation, the Klingon woman had explained more about the breakthrough she had had in stabilising the notoriously volatile element, porathium. That, combined with what the Morana had discovered on Skara was the key to activating the hyperwarp core, to mirroring the effect of whatever it was in the Moranan's own universe that did the job alone.

"I have a suggestion." Spock hesitated only because he was aware that his recent loss of control might have undermined their confidence in him. He was not a man to pause for dramatic effect.

"What is it Spock?" Hunter asked, encouragingly.

"I can meld with T'Hana and erase her memory of the formula for stabilising the porathium. That would remove the need for Caton and Piklamer to torture her."

"Forgive me, Mr Spock. My understanding of the Vulcan mind meld is quite vague. Would I lose the knowledge forever? You may not be aware that my research findings have not been replicated and they were only partially written up."

"I would preserve the memory for you and return it to you at a more favourable time." There was silence as each member of the company absorbed the implications of what Spock had just said. The Vulcan was aware that what he offered T'Hana was overshadowed by the reality of the state of hostility that existed between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Was it too wide a gulf to bridge?

"T'Hana?" Kravok said, prompting her gently. For him, the decision was easier, not least because it would remove the woman he loved from harm's way.

"I am…not sure." T'Hana stammered.

"Spock – such a course of action would leave you vulnerable to Piklamer again." Hunter cautioned. Spock nodded,

"That is true, but I am able to resist him."

"Are you, Spock?" The Vulcan did not answer. He was not in the business of repeating himself. Instead he crossed to T'Hana and asked,

"May I?" T'Hana nodded uncertainly.

Spock placed his fingers on T'Hana's temple and leaned close until his face was almost touching hers. "My mind to your mind." He began, "My thoughts to yours." Kort touched Hunter's elbow and drew him away.

"Is this wise, given Spock's state of mind?"

"I have every confidence in Mr Spock." Hunter said, quietly, watching the Vulcan at work. "I don't think he would even try something like this if he thought it might harm her."

"And I have confidence in your judgement." Kort said, quietly, "Perhaps the Vulcan is a man who can build bridges between our differences. He would make a fine ambassador for peace between our peoples."

They watched as Spock withdrew his fingers softly and T'Hana opened her eyes, which she had kept tightly closed throughout the meld. For a moment she looked at Spock, her eyes boring into his. Watching them, Hunter remembered what Spock had said about his mind-meld with Piklamer about the joining of minds not being a one-way process. What had Spock revealed of himself for T'Hana to look at him with such intensity?

"It is done." Spock said, gently. "When Piklamer searches for the formula, he will see only the images that I have planted instead and you will be suffused with a feeling of well-being." T'Hana smiled,

"The images of Vulcan are quite beautiful, Mr Spock. One day I would like to visit your planet and its fine science academy."

"The honour would be Vulcan's." Spock said, inclining his head slightly in the faintest echo of a bow.

Piklamer withdrew his terlak from the Klingon woman's forehead and cast it aside in frustration.

"What is it?" Caton asked, impatiently. "Do you have what we need?"

"Her mind is less orderly than the Vulcan's." Piklamer replied, also impatient. After another attempt at reading T'Hana's thoughts, he swore and threw the terlak across the room, "Her mind has been tampered with. The terlak is useless."

Caton's anger was palpable. It surged within him, paralysing him momentarily with a murderous rage that leached out through his pores, fouling the room with its noxious contagion. Piklamer felt it and was disgusted.

His relationship with Caton was not complex. Caton could, through his contacts at the Federation and at Klingon High Command, deliver him what he wanted: the means by which to return to his own galaxy. In return, knowledge of the hyperwarp would be Caton's – and the Klingon's. He did not care what purpose they put this knowledge to and he did not fear an incursion of Klingons and men like Caton into his own galaxy – they would be crushed like flies. Caton was foolish if he thought otherwise.

It had been the Klingon woman, T'Hana who brought them together. Nor had hacked into the Klingon Science League's research records and found information relating to her work on stabilising porathium. Piklamer's own research had uncovered Caton's unique placement between Klingon and Federation corridors of power. It was Caton who had led them to Ravik, to the site of the science station where the remains of Piklamer's ship was hidden in a top secret underground hanger that was hermetically sealed to all but a select number of the scientific community there.

Piklamer cursed his decision to leave the craft unguarded while he, Nor and the handful of Moranan survivors of the crash, scattered themselves across the galaxy to gather what materials they could to repair the hyperwarp. It had been discovered by the landing party of a Federation Starship patrolling the area and taken to Ravik. There could have been no doubt of the importance of the discovery, and Piklamer saw immediately that he could exploit the enmity that seemed to exist between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. Caton provided the link.

In return for information on the hyperwarp, the Klingons had helped the Morana destroy Ravik and arranged for the transportation of the scientist T'Hana to Skara, and were to have secured a Starship that would take the Morana home.

He looked at the Klingon woman, who was slumped over her chair in a faint – evidently the experience of having her mind probed was as distasteful to her as it had been to the Vulcan.

"Take her back to the others." He said to Nor. "She is no good to us like this." To Caton, he said, "You would do well to learn a lesson from the Vulcan and control your emotions."

"It is the Vulcan who has done this." Caton seethed. Piklamer nodded,

"It would appear that way. It seems that I must join minds with Spock again, but this time I will be prepared. He will not overcome me so easily a second time."

"I will not spare him or his precious captain." Caton said, coldly.

Piklamer turned away, tired and slightly bored with Caton's tantrum.

"T'Hana!"

The big Moranan known as Nor crossed the room and laid the Klingon woman on one of the bunks."

"What have you done to her?" Kravok demanded, blocking Nor's way back to the door. Another Moranan stood in the doorway, terlak at the ready and Nor had, with uncanny speed, produced his own weapon and was levelling it at Kravok.

"Don't confront him, Kravok." Hunter warned. Kravok backed down, but his eyes burned with hatred.

T'Hana seemed unconscious. Kravok stared down at her in dismay.

"Spock, can you help her?" Hunter asked. Expression solemn, Spock crossed to the Klingon woman and contemplated her passive face for a few moments, without disturbing her. Then, quietly he spoke her name.

T'Hana sat up, a peaceful expression on her face. "What happened?" She asked, puzzled at their looks of concern, "I remember Piklamer coming towards me with his terlak and then…nothing, except beautiful images of the sun setting across the Vulcan sand dunes." She smiled at Mr Spock, "It worked…I revealed nothing to them of any importance, but they will come for you soon, Mr Spock, I fear."

"Piklamer needs some time to recover – using the terlak in this way exhausts him, but yes, it will not be long. And in my present weakened state, I will not be able to resist his probing indefinitely. We must hope that help arrives before my mental defences are breached." Kort growled in frustration,

"If only we could find a way out of here."

"I have been giving that matter some thought." Spock said, "There may be a way." He had their immediate attention.

"How, Spock?" Hunter asked. "Nor is always accompanied by another guard and as long as they have their terlaks, we're powerless.

"I will attempt to plant a suggestion in the guard's mind. I will suggest that he leaves the door to this room unlocked after him. However, I am not sure if I can influence a Moranan in this way, without touching him."

"I thought Vulcans were touch telepaths?" said Kort.

"Some Vulcans have advanced abilities." Spock answered, simply.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Spock, but won't this mean the rest of us escaping and leaving you here, leaving you to Piklamer?" The Vulcan did not answer immediately. The sight of Piklamer crawling on the floor, crying out for Nor flashed in his mind. "Of course, Mr Hunter. I will keep Piklamer and Caton occupied for as long as possible to assist your escape."

"It may be our best chance." Kort said, reluctantly.

"Spock, we can't let you stay here alone. Piklamer and Caton will show you no mercy," Hunter said.

"As long as he believes that I can give him what he wants, he will keep me alive. In the meantime, you, like T'Sorf have an opportunity to escape."

"We will return for you, Mr Spock." Kravok's voice. "You saved my life. It would dishonour me to do otherwise." Spock nodded in acknowledgement, but in truth, he was wearier than he had been in his life.

"One named Spock!" It was time. Nor stood in the doorway. Spock focused on the other guard, as he walked towards him, concentrating. They moved out into the corridor and the guard hesitated. Nor did not seem to notice when the Moranan hung back, his hand hovering on the lock. Spock could not risk drawing Nor's attention to the guard, so he kept his gaze straight ahead. Had he succeeded in inducing the Moranan to leave the door unlocked? Hunter and the others would know soon enough.

As the sound of Spock and the guards footsteps grew fainter, Kort moved swiftly to the door, "It worked!" he said, in surprise as he tried the handle.

"Did you doubt him?" asked Hunter.

"We must go. Spock won't be able to hold out against Piklamer indefinitely," his Klingon friend replied, ignoring Hunter's reproach." He motioned for Kravok and T'Hana to go first. Outside, the corridor was deserted. "This way." Kort said, decisively. Hunter hesitated, torn between the need for escape and his concern for the self-sacrificing Vulcan officer whom he had grown to like and respect.

"We can help him more by finding his captain, if he is on Skara." Kort said, quietly, and Hunter nodded, his decision made. There was nothing that he could do for Spock now.

Kort put a finger to his lips and all four stood still. Voices echoed from down the corridor, then faded away. They proceeded with caution but the way was clear and quickly they reached a door leading outside. "It's daylight. We could be spotted climbing over the fence." Kravok cautioned.

"They are not looking for us like they were last time. We can do this." Kort said, "T'Hana, you first, then Kravok. If Piklamer cannot break Spock, he will find some way of forcing him to restore your memory."

The others watched with mounting tension as T'Hana ran, crouching low towards the fence. Once there, she scaled it easily and made for cover in the tangle of bushes giving into the forest. Kravok followed next, then the others.

It seemed too good to be true. Like T'Sorf, they made for the river, but this time there were no boats moored by the banks.

"We could swim across to the other side, but I don't think that would confer any great advantage." Hunter said. No one relished the prospect of plunging into the icy Skarran water unless it was going to offer the best opportunity of escape. Kort pointed into the forest, "Our best chance of evading capture is to head into the forest and upwards into the hills. And, by doing this, we also head roughly in the direction of the Curie's shuttle."

They were distracted, suddenly by a familiar sound that seemed oddly out of place on this world. Looking back at the compound, they saw several spirals of splintered light begin to coalesece and take shape – Klingon shape. All four watched as five Klingons materialised before their eyes.

"They are here!" Said Kravok.

"We should split up." T'Hana suggested. "Two trails will be harder to follow." Kort shook his head. "We stay together." No one argued.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Admiral Ben Caton turned from his computer monitor and sat for a few moments considering Piklamer's encounter with T'Hana. His fists were clenched and a layer of sweat glistened on his brow.

Not for the first time, he cursed his luck. He had thought Kort and Hunter dead these past six months, killed in the attack on the Curie. How could he have guessed that they had somehow hijacked the Curie's shuttle days before the attack and been safely on their way to Skara? Then, just as he had managed to lure the Enterprise to Skara, the ion storm had struck and they had lost both it and the Klingon ship.

And now, that damn Vulcan First Officer was proving a trial. Still, if what Piklamer had told him were true, and if what he had heard about Jim Kirk's loyalty to his men were also true, then it would not be long before Captain Kirk returned to rescue his precious Mr Spock.

The Morana were becoming impatient. Stranded in this Galaxy when once the entire Universe had been theirs to roam. Since his first encounter with them, they had tolerated him because of his usefulness. If he were unable to deliver what he had promised, his usefulness would be subject to review.

Caton did not delude himself that he had any kind of special relationship with Piklamer – he had learned that much at Ravik. It had been at Piklamer's insistence that the whole planet had been attacked, despite Caton's assurance that it would be enough to destroy the base. Still, he hadn't protested too much.

Despite himself Caton shuddered, remembering that planet's fate and his part in it. Lucky he was a person who could compartmentalise easily, or the guilt would surely have driven him insane. Lucky also that he was not prone to self doubt; what's done was done and revisiting the past for the purpose of cross-examining his conscience was not his style. Still, it was a lot to lock away in a box inside his head and he was careful not to try the lid.

He toyed with the idea of speaking with the Vulcan himself. Not that he believed, as Piklamer did, that Kirk would sacrifice his ship and his command to save his First Officer. It didn't work like that, no matter how deep a bond between two men went. Piklamer had interpreted what he had found in the Vulcan's mind on a simplistic level – his telepathic skill was limited to what he could accomplish with the terlak – and Piklamer was nothing if not limited in his capacity to understand the human mind. As for the Vulcan half of Spock's mind – understanding that was a challenge of an entirely different nature.

The base that had been established on Skara was strictly covert. Caton had used his connections in Starfleet to secure the facilities and supplies and secrecy that were necessary for the Morana's work on Skara. The whole operation was shrouded in secrecy because of the intensely sensitive nature of their cooperation with the Morana, perpetrators of the attack on Ravik. Caton had played down his own part in that event – he had merely pointed out the advantages to the Federation of securing a hyperwarp drive ahead of the Klingon Empire. It was amazing what people were willing to forgive and forget for the sake of political advantage. But only certain people – it was not widely known what was really going on on Skara and they needed to be careful.

Skara, it seemed was rich in bretinium, but mining it was only the beginning of the process. The crystals had to be refined before they could be used – a lengthy and costly process, making delays inevitable. And the Klingon woman's knowledge of porathium was essential. How much longer could he stall his accomplices in Starfleet for? Questions were already being asked in high places.

Caton stood up and walked across the room to a shelf upon which rested a polished magenta and gold-flecked oval crystal. Bretinium. Refined and processed and polished to an intensely radiant smoothness. Its texture was reminiscent of sleek velvet; in his hand it felt cold; it felt like power.

All those years he had spent intermittently feeding information to the Klingons, the double-dealings he had engaged in to arrive at this point. The sacrifices he had made; the first, of course, being his so-called friendship with George Woodhouse when he had left him for dead on Vascus. Another box. His mind was like a Chinese box of memories best left with the lids firmly shut.

In a sudden fit of rage, Caton hurled the crystal across the room at his computer screen. The glass shattered; the crystal nestled amidst the exposed circuitry like a malevolent painted egg, mocking him with its brilliance.

Furious, he stabbed a button on his desk and contacted Nor. "Bring the Vulcan to me." He said

Spock's appearance was surprisingly orderly considering what he had endured recently, his expression unnervingly serene. The only clue to his recent suffering was his rigid gait as he walked to the chair indicated by Caton.

"Mr Spock." Caton began, his voice reproachful, "I am told that the famous Vulcan ability to meld minds is getting in the way of results. You are proving a hard nut to crack. His words drew a brief look of puzzlement from his captive, quickly dispelled as the Vulcan's intellect filled the gap in his understanding of the use of metaphor.

"No matter. Piklamer learned much in his incursion into your mind and he tells me that he is almost ready to try again. You could save yourself the indignity of a further assault by cooperating with us." Spock did not answer, did not even grace Caton with a look, but Caton was gratified to note a barely perceptible tightening of the Vulcan's lips.

He moved closer, brought his face in line with Spock's. "Your captain will give us the Enterprise, Mr Spock. If not to save the neck of his First Officer, then by some other means. One way or another the Morana will have that ship and I will go with them. Klingon High Command will pay handsomely for the hyperwarp, but even without their payment I would give it to them for the satisfaction of seeing the Federation brought to its knees."

He had the Vulcan's attention now, he could tell. Curiosity. The Vulcan wished to understand why a well-decorated Admiral would betray Starfleet and throw away the achievements of a lifetime. Let him wonder. Let them all wonder.

Caton stood up, his expression dark, threatening. He was a big man, the kind who would use his physical presence to intimidate. Spock knew that he had a reputation for getting what he wanted. Even across the distance separating them, Spock could sense his instability. For the first time, it occurred to him that Caton might be insane.

Sounding perfectly sane, Caton looked the Vulcan in the eye and said, "Let's cut to the chase, Mr Spock. Don't think that you've outwitted Piklamer – he'll be in your head again soon and this time he won't stop until he gets what he wants."

"Tell Piklamer it is time." He said to Nor, rage possessing him anew.

Piklamer regarded Spock with cool detachment as he entered Caton's quarters. Now he looked directly Spock in the eye. Caton, still barely in control of his rage, retreated behind his desk.

"You took the Klingon woman's thoughts, Mr Spock and replaced them with pleasant inages of your home planet. An arid, heat-seared world, but also quite beautiful. If I were not in such haste to return to my own universe, I might be inclined to pay Vulcan a visit." Piklamer said. Spock stood stonily silent, preparing himself for the storm that would inevitably succeed Piklamer's mockey. The Moranan approached, terlak in hand and despite his great resolve, Spock flinched involuntarily as he felt its cold tip press against his temple.

As he had planned, Spock relaxed the defences he had built up to control his pain of his wounds and the mental torment induced by the Skarrans' toxin, letting both flood his consciousness as he emptied his mind of all else. This time he was disturbed to see that Piklamer did not recoil as he had done before. Somehow he was contriving to filter out these thoughts and probe beyond them. Spock felt a moment's fear and was even more disturbed to see Piklamer's smile of satisfaction. Across the room, Caton relaxed slightly and leaned forward the better to see the outcome of the contest.

Something was wrong. His strategy was not working. Spock felt panic rising within him as Piklamer probed the hidden places in his mind, searching deeper and deeper coming to a place that was closed even to Spock.

Suddenly, Spock knew what he had to do. He had long since sealed up his memory of the mind-sifter, relegated it to a part of his mind that he visited only under controlled circumstances when he had prepared himself with the techniques that the Vulcan healer had taught him. The healer had warned that to unseal the memory before he had mastered the techniques to cope with it could lead Spock to the brink of insanity. Spock hesitated, but only for a second. He thought of his duty to his Captain and his ship, and his mind was made up.

With a look at Piklamer that was almost apologetic, Spock led the Moranan leader to the place and prepared to open his Pandora's box. He saw Piklamer's look of surprise at being granted access to the memories turn slowly to horror as he grasped the awfulness of what had been released from the Vulcan's subconscious.

What Spock did not witness was Piklamer's look of revulsion turn slowly to one of triumph, for in that second of unleashing his nightmare, the Vulcan was engulfed by its horror and he fell to the floor, twisting and screaming in anguish.

"Do you have it?" Caton asked, his eyes narrowing to a slit as he concentrated on the astonishing scene before him. He had leapt from his seat as he witnessed the Moranan leader shrink away from the Vulcan in shock, but then something had happened; something had been reversed, and Piklamer had emerged triumphant.

"I have it." Piklamer confirmed. "The Vulcan has dark places in his mind indeed, but he miscalculated in thinking that I could be overcome by his nightmares – the Klingon mind-sifter, from what I have seen, is a subtle device that locks each individual in his own personal hell – Spock's hell is not mine. I was able to wrest the information I needed from him with ease once he succumbed to his own terrors."

Caton smiled, a leering, self-satisfied grin that did not soften his features, but transformed his face into something devilish, malevolent. He looked to where Spock was still writhing on the floor, his eyes rolling madly…

"Such an unseemly posture for a Vulcan." He said. "Get him out of here Nor! He's of no further use to us now."

_Authors note: A big 'Thank You' to everyone who's still following the story - especially everyone who is reviewing or has added 'Destiny Warp' to their story alerts or favourite stories. I can't respond personally to anyone who isn't signed up with the site, but please be assured, I appreciate all your comments. _ _Aurelan_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one

Commander Kaathos was in no doubt as to the fate of the Klingon ship sent to Skara to receive the hyperwarp. A message received by subspace had described the ship's final desperate moments in graphic detail. Commander K'Sath's last words had been to praise the glory of the Klingon Empire before he embraced his noble death with honour.

Before initiating his ship's self-destruct sequence, he had named his nemesis as Captain James T Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Kirk was well known to the Empire and much hated. Kaathos welcomed his chance to face Kirk in battle and make him pay for his transgressions against the Empire.

Messages received from the surface of the planet confirmed that H'Narth along with the two Klingon scientists had survived, and plans for the completion of the hyperwarp were still on schedule. Admiral Caton had referred to 'complications' in his latest communication, but he had not elaborated. As far as he was concerned, things were under control and Kaathos trusted Caton's judgement. After all, Caton had long since demonstrated his loyalty to the Klingon Empire and he was a man whom Kaathos was happy to do business with. Thanks to Caton, the Klingons would be ahead of the Federation in developing hyperwarp capability, and through Caton's negotiations, they would have a staunch ally in the Morana, an ally who could lead them to domination of their galaxy and beyond.

Kaathos could not help thinking ahead to the rewards of securing the hyperwarp for the Empire, but in the meantime, he needed to stay focussed on the task at hand. One possible problem was that the Morana had demanded a ship to take them back to their own space. The Enterprise would have been a prize catch, still could be if Kaathos's intelligence were good. She was on her way back to Skara, perhaps only a day or two behind the battlecruiser. Ion storms apart, this time she would fall to the Klingons and Kaathos would avenge the loss of the Vr'Tsak. He meant to take no prisoners.

From the bridge of his battlecruiser, Kaathos studied the fragile blue-green planet on the viewscreen. Its very resemblance to Earth stirred feelings of revulsion in him. Not long now. An advance landing party had already beamed down to the planet's surface; soon Caton and the Morana would beam aboard. A new, glorious era was about to dawn for the Klingon Empire and Kaathos would be present at its birth.

"McCoy! Blackstone! Over there." Kirk's voice was hushed, urgent.

"What is it, Jim?" Kirk was pointing through a gap in the undergrowth, down the hillside to a large tract of land that had been purposefully cleared from the surrounding forest.

"Those hairy Skarrans are forest dwellers. Why would they clear a patch of land that big? This has to be Caton and the Moranas doing," observed McCoy.

"That's still a good day's walk away." Blackstone said, scrunching his eyes as if better to measure the distance.

"T'Sorf, does that clearing look familiar? Are we getting closer?" The Klingon boy shook his head. "I can't see the river. We were being held near a river."

If Sylviana had been near, Kirk would have asked her to transform herself into a bird and fly to the clearing, but she had become tired holding her physical form and evaporated into the air around them. Blackstone said that he could detect her presence, faintly. She had promised to return when her energy levels were restored.

"It's got to be down there hidden among the trees." Said McCoy.

Kirk's jaw tightened. "Let's go."

"Captain Kirk, forgive me for asking, but do you have a plan?" Blackstone asked. Kirk stopped in his tracks, surprised by the question and reminded of his First Officer's quiet way of reining in his enthusiasm. He didn't need to look at McCoy to know that the medic's expression would be one of amusement.

"Is there a plan, Jim? Or are we simply going to take on the might of the Morana and whatever other forces Caton has down there to protect his interests with?" Bones asked. Kirk shrugged. Ideas and strategies were buzzing around his head, but without any knowledge of what they were up against, there could not be a coherent plan.

"When we get close enough, Blackstone and I will scout ahead, get some idea of what's going on."

"Can't Sylviana do that? She can make herself discreet."

"Maybe." Kirk answered, without enthusiasm. Sylviana was an elusive presence at best.

"Jim, maybe we should wait for back up." There. He'd said it. McCoy was aware that the potential danger the Enterprise faced upon her arrival at Skara had been gnawing away at the captain since he had worked out why Caton wanted her here. He noticed Jim fingering his communicator. Was he willing it to beep or stay silent? McCoy could not guess.

"Captain Kirk!" Stephen Blackstone's tone put Kirk on immediate alert. The young Vulcan had been surveying the countryside from a tall tree and now he was shimmying down the trunk at rapid speed.

"You see something out there?" Kirk asked, concerned.

"A group of three or four heading in this direction. Kirk nodded.

"Skarrans?"

"No. Captain, they looked like Klingons." Kirk and McCoy exchanged alarmed glances.

"They're here already, Jim. What about the Enterprise? Scotty should have been here by now too." Kirk looked skywards as though expecting to see his ship silhouetted in the Skarran sky. He was unable to conceal his anxiety from McCoy.

"The longer Scotty takes to get here the better under the circumstances." He said. "Blackstone, how far away are those Klingons?"

"About half an hour away, I'd say."

"Are you going to fight them?" T'Sorf asked, excited. Kirk did not answer. It was bad luck encountering a group of Klingons at this distance from the compound.

"It wouldn't be wise to let them know we're here." He said, looking around for a vantage point. "Those rocks over there. We can hide out there until they pass and if we do have to engage them, we'll have the advantage of higher ground."

Half an hour dragged out interminably. Kirk was beginning to doubt Blackstone's judgement of distance, when the sound of voices alerted them to the Klingons' approach. Then, suddenly they were there – two males and a female and – Kirk strained his eyes to see – what looked like a human male – a prisoner? Beside him, T'Sorf stirred and stood up. "What the devil?" McCoy's voice, alarmed.

"Father!" T'Sorf's voice rang out, echoing round the hillside, and in an instant he had left the cover of the rocks and was running down the stony slope, slipping and sliding on the loose scree, headlong into the group passing below, Blackstone at his heels. Kirk and McCoy, still behind cover, watched in astonishment as members of the group greeted one another – all except two of the Klingons – a male and female in the familiar black and gold uniform of the Klingon Empire, who stood aloof from the others, but unthreatening. With a shrug, Kirk stood up and signalling to McCoy, started down the slope to join them.

The introductions were brief. T'Sorf was the first to ask, though it had been in Kirk and McCoy's mind to say it, "Where is Mr Spock? Is he alright?" Hunter and Kort exchanged looks. Kirk and McCoy noticed and were not reassured. Hunter said,

"Your First Officer is a brave man, Captain Kirk. We all owe our lives to him."

"What's happened to my First Officer?" Kirk asked, in no mood for prevarication. Beside him, McCoy tensed. Hunter explained the situation. So it was true; Caton was working with the Morana.

As McCoy quizzed Hunter about Spock's medical condition, Kirk paced up and down. Blackstone touched his arm, "Captain, it is unlikely that your Mr Spock will be able to resist this Piklamer for long. He is physically weakened and there is the matter of the Skarran toxin, which, acts like a psychotic. Despite what I said earlier, I am surprised that he has been able to hold out this long. Even for a Vulcan, he sounds most tenacious."

Kirk almost smiled, so apt was Blackstone's choice of words. McCoy would have been less polite. Kirk had lost count of the number of times his CMO had accused the Vulcan First Officer of stubbornness.

"Like you say, Mr Spock is not one to give up easily."

"I don't like it, Jim." McCoy's voice, sounding grouchy. "Damn fool Vulcan's gonna push himself over the edge…" The more Bones insulted Spock, the more worried he was, Kirk knew. He flashed a sympathetic smile at his friend.

"Captain Kirk. There's something else you should know." Kort said, "As we were leaving the enclosure, we saw five Klingons materialising in the compound."

"Dammit, can't anyone give me some good news?" Kirk said, exasperated. Jim looked up to see McCoy's eyes boring into his. The medic pulled him aside.

"What it is Jim?"

"I can't…feel him any more." Kirk said. McCoy's look of alarm caused him a pang of guilt. "No..No..I don't think he's dead – I don't know what that would feel like but I don't believe it would be like this..this…blankness." Kirk struggled to find the words. "It's like there was a connection and now it's gone."

McCoy's eyebrows arched into his brow. For once he seemed lost for words. Then, he put a hand on Jim's shoulder, "He may be unconscious. It's alright, Jim. We'll find him." Kirk straighted up and walked back to the others. T'Sorf was relating the story of his escape and how he had found the hoverplane, leaving out any mention of his being completely lost.

"How easy would it be to walk in there and get Mr Spock out?" Kirk asked.

"Not easy now. They'll be on alert following our escape yesterday." Kort answered. His eyes strayed to Kirk's belt, "How well armed are you?"

"Well enough," Kirk answered, indicating his disruptor."

"They have a weapon, a terlak. They use it to inflict pain and Piklamer uses it to boost his telepathic powers. You would need to act swiftly before they could use this weapon to disable you. I think that only Piklamer, his second in command Nor, and perhaps one or two others are able to use the terlak. I suspect it is linked in some way to their brain patterns." Kirk nodded.

"That leaves the Klingons. They will be armed with disrupters."

"It'll take several hours to get there, then we'll have to wait until dark. The moonlight will be a hinderance, but it's worth the risk." Kirk said. He looked around the assembled group. "You didn't escape from the compound to go right back again. It's imperative that you two are not recaptured." He looked from Kravok to T'Hana. "Kort, Hunter, you go with them. Return to the Curie shuttle and wait – the Enterprise will scan that area first and pick you up. Use this if you need to." He handed T'Hana his communicator.

"He is right, you must not be retaken." Kort said, "But I will accompany you, Captain Kirk. The Vulcan deserves the best chance."

"That goes for me too." Said Hunter, his voice firm. Kirk nodded. Kort turned to his son, "T'Sorf. You will go with Kravok and T'Hana." The Klingon boy opened his mouth to protest, "But father.."

"You must obey your father. It is the Klingon way." Interjected Kravok. The boy nodded, unhappily.

When they had gone, Kirk quizzed Kort and Hunter about the compound, the Moranans. Any information was vital. By nightfall a plan was in place, but first, hours of walking lay ahead and Kirk could barely contain his unrest.

Luck was on their side when they reached the compound. Skara's moons rose, huge and low in the night sky, but instead of shining with their usual luminous white radiance, they were red and swollen and cloud-hazy against the velvet darkness. Observing them, Kirk could not help hoping that they were a good omen.

With Blackstone and Kort, Kirk scaled the perimeter fence, dropping lightly on the other side. McCoy and Hunter waited behind, ready to lift Spock to safety when they heard the signal from Kirk.

Once in the compound, Kirk relied on Kort to locate the part of the complex of barracks- like buildings where Spock was being held – if he were even in the same location. They fanned out, Kort a few paces ahead of the others, all three moving stealthily, quiet as big cats, weapons in hand.

The lack of guards seemed ominous. The whole enclosure was silent, hushed, as though deserted. The Morana were few in number, Kirk knew. They were the crew of a single ship – and from what Kort and Hunter had said about its dimensions, it was not a large vessel. Besides the Morana, there was Caton and a handful of Klingons. Kort had estimated that until the Klingons' arrival, there had been only a score or more on the whole compound. Even so, the lack of security was unsettling.

Kort had come to a stop by the side of a low rise building. Blackstone and Kirk joined him, looking all around. With Kirk and Blackstone covering him, the big Klingon aimed McCoy's disruptor at the midsection of the door, and burned right through the lock. A moment later all three were inside and moving down the corridor.

"This is the one." Kort said, in a whisper, "This is where we were being held." Kirk looked at the Klingon and nodded. He realised suddenly that he was holding his breath and let it go slowly, releasing the tension that had been mounting since they had entered the building. Now he needed to be calm, in control, all doubt dispersed. Despite his resolve, Kirk felt a rush of anxiety as Blackstone burnt through the lock with his disruptor.

The room was suffused with an eerie orange coloured light shining through the barred window, the light from Skara's multiple moons, making it difficult to discern shape from shadow. At first it seemed that the room was empty. The bunks where the prisoners had slept were dishevelled, unused.

"He's not here." Kirk said, his voice heavy with disappointment and frustration.

"Wait." Blackstone said, tilting his head, Vulcan ears hearing what the others could not. "Under the bunk" He said, pointing to a bunk pushed up against the wall at the farthest end of the room, covers hanging over the edge. He crossed the room lithely and lifted the covers, bending to look underneath. Kirk held back, unable to believe that his First Officer could be cowering under a bed like a frightened five-year-old.

"Mr Spock?" Blackstone asked, quietly. Kirk was by his side in an instant, relief and worry flooding through him. Spock was lying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes open and staring and when Kirk spoke, he showed no sign of recognition.

"Spock! Dammit, what's wrong? What's wrong with him Blackstone, is it some kind of healing trance?"

"No Captain, I believe that he has suffered a severe mental trauma. Notice his catatonic state."

"We have to get him out of here."

With Kort and Blackstone's help, Kirk hauled Spock out and onto his feet, but the Vulcan remained unresponsive, his body going limp in their arms. Between them, Blackstone and Kort carried him outside whilst Kirk covered them. At the perimeter fence they somehow manoeuvred Spock over and into Hunter and McCoy's waiting arms. McCoy ran his mediscanner over the listless First Officer, his expression changing from outright relief at seeing Spock alive, to alarm at the shape he was in. As Bones prepared a hypo, Kirk paced, feeling helpless.

"Something's wrong." Kort said, scanning the area. "We've seen no guards, met no resistance. It's as if they don't care."

"Perhaps they don't." Said Blackstone, quietly.

"What do you mean?" Kirk dragged his gaze away from Spock's prone form to look at Blackstone. The young Vulcan hesitated,

"Mr Spock's mind has been violated – I think that he was unable to resist. Caton and Piklamer have the information they require – and they have the battlecruiser. All Caton needs now is the Enterprise."

"He's right. They may have left Skara already." Hunter said.

Kirk took in their comments but for that moment, he had a more immediate concern. Kneeling beside his CMO, he said, "Bones?" McCoy sighed,

"I'm doing what I can, Jim. He's in pretty poor shape but I don't get it; I've administered the anti-toxin; he should be responding by now." Blackstone hovered, finally he said,

"Perhaps I can help." McCoy threw him a sceptical look,

"Another mind meld? Hasn't he had enough of that?"

"I could determine his mental state, try to reach him." McCoy hesitated, unsure.

"Help him." Kirk said, decisively.

"Jim.."

"You said it yourself, he's not responding. Let him try." His tone was harsh, impatient. Jim Kirk was a man who needed fast results, more so when it was his First Officer's well being at stake.

"It could be dangerous. Blackstone's not a skilled healer. What if he can't bring Spock back? What if he damages him more?"

"That's a risk I'm prepared to take."

"_You're_ prepared to take." McCoy was on his feet now, face levelled at Kirk's. "Ah yes, you're the Captain and I'm simply his physician, what do I know?"

"Bones, we don't have time for this. If Caton's already aboard that battlecruiser and the Enterprise is approaching Skara, I need to know what information he has at his disposal." Turning to Blackstone, he said, "Do it."

McCoy moved aside, his anger already abating. He knew what it cost Jim to put Spock at risk, and that only his responsibility to the safety of the Enterprise and its crew could compel him to do so. He didn't need his CMO making it all the harder for him to choose between his friend and his duty.

So far, Jim's luck had played out – Spock had survived time and again but McCoy wasn't sure that, if things played out badly, Jim could live with his choice. He was reminded again of Spock's desperation to conceal his state of mind from Jim after the mind-sifter – Spock understood what made Jim tick. Right now, Kirk believed absolutely in Spock's ability to survive because that's what he needed to believe in order to make the call that his duty as a Starfleet captain demanded of him.

"I'm sorry, Jim." The medic mumbled, head lowered, and was awarded with a brief, sideways smile of forgiveness from his captain. Blackstone bent over Spock, intense concentration setting his expression rigid, blank. He flexed his long fingers and placed them around Spock's face and temples, leaning in close until his own face almost touched the older Vulcan's. It was a ritual that Kirk and McCoy had witnessed Spock perform many times, yet, for non-Vulcans, it still had the power to unsettle.

Blackstone spoke in a low voice, in Vulcan. Then, suddenly, his face contorted in pain and he opened his mouth as if to scream. Spock's lifeless eyes sparked with awareness, boring into the young Vulcan's. Blackstone screamed and stumbled backwards, as if jolted by the force of a high voltage electric current.

"What happened?" McCoy, shocked.

"He broke the link." Blackstone stammered, shaken," His mind is…greatly disturbed. Please, give me a moment to make sense of the impressions I received."

It was some time before Blackstane was able to speak.

"His thoughts are chaotic. He was not able to resist Piklamer for long. Somehow, Piklamer had attuned his terlak differently, reconfigured it so that he was able to bypass Spock's defences easily. Spock opened a part of his mind that had been sealed off, a part that he himself was not completely in control of…unleashing a kind of madness…"

"Oh no," McCoy said, in a low voice. Kirk looked at him, frowing, then turned his attention back at Blackstone.

"I think he intended Piklamer to be overcome by the madness that he had unleashed, but he could not have anticipated Piklamer's mastery of the terlak, or that instrument's usefulness – it is a conduit that can link minds, but Piklamer uses it as a filter also – Spock released his darkest thoughts and Piklamer simply deflected them. Now I fear that Mr Spock has retreated into a very dark place where insanity threatens to overwhelm him."

"I..don't understand. What is this dark place in Spock's mind? Bones?" Kirk asked, bewildered. McCoy was conflicted between his loyalty to Kirk and his medical oath of patient-doctor confidentiality.

"I'm..not sure, Jim."

"It's as though his thoughts have been corrupted, sifted through and turned against him, every good thing soiled and degraded, made ugly." Blackstone remarked. Kort gave a start of recognition.

"Has Mr Spock ever been subjected to the Klingon mind-sifter?" McCoy glanced at the big Klingon in silent thanks.

"Yes. On Organia. As a Vulcan he was able to cope with its effects," answered Kirk. Kort and Blackstone glanced at McCoy. A flicker of understanding passed between them.

"Perhaps reliving the experience combined with the terlak has somehow intensified the mind-sifter's effect. And, there's Spock's injuries, his weakened state, the Skarran toxin still in his bloodstream – though I have given him the anti-toxin." McCoy said, hoping Kirk would be convinced, that he wouldn't have to break his promise to Spock.

"Suggestions?" Kirk asked.

"I could try again." Blackstone offered. "Mr Spock was aware of my presence in his mind. He was trying to relay information through the madness. I believe he broke the meld to protect me. If I can persuade him to accept my help.."

"Stephen, you're not skilled at this – Vulcans learn techniques through years of study – parts of your Vulcan training are incomplete." McCoy objected.

"You do not understand. I would be using Mr Spock's expertise – his strength and skill. My own contribution would be minimal, but perhaps enough to make the difference between this…" He paused and looked down at Spock's seemingly unconscious form, "And some level of functionality."

"That sounds like more than a mind link." Kirk said. Blackstone nodded.

"Our minds would be merged, fused together until Mr Spock is restored to his normal physical and mental capacity." It was Kirk's turn to hesitate and for reasons that made him feel slightly confused. He wanted to be the one to help Spock, but he wasn't a Vulcan and this was one step that he could not take for his friend.

As for McCoy – he knew that the mind-sifter had brought Spock to the brink of insanity once already – in his present condition, the Vulcan could not hope to overcome it a second time. Despite his reservations, his mind was already made up.

Blackstone knelt next to Spock again, this time reaching out to the meld points with more confidence. In a moment the earlier scene replayed itself with Blackstone's expression once again twisting in pain, but to those watching it seemed that he entered deeper into the meld, deflecting whatever resistance Spock was putting up. All the time, Blackstone spoke in his own language, which was also Spock's language. Kirk and McCoy caught a familiar word here and there, but mostly it was indecipherable. Then, finally, after what seemed an eternity to the onlookers, Blackstone pulled away from Spock, breaking the meld, exhausted.

McCoy knelt beside Spock and ran his scanner over him. At the sound, the Vulcan stirred and his eyes flickered open. In a hoarse, rasping voice, he said,

"Doctor, there is no need." before a bout of coughing interrupted his words. For once, McCoy did not respond with a tirade of insults and pleas for Spock to allow him to be the judge of his patient's condition. He said, only, "Easy, Spock. You're not as strong as you think you are." Spock caught McCoy's eye for the briefest moment and nodded, allowing the medic to press a hypo against his sleeve. He then looked at Blackstone, who looked back at Spock. No word of thanks was uttered but it was obvious that Spock acknowledged the young man's contribution to his recovery.

"Good to see you, Spock." Kirk said, resisting the urge to slap his First Officer on the back.

"Jim, he may be back from the brink but he's far from okay." McCoy cautioned as he helped Spock sit up. There was no point in telling Kirk to save his questions for later; Spock was as eager to speak, as Kirk was to listen.

"Captain, Admiral Caton is a traitor. He is working with a race known as the Morana and with the Klingons." Kirk nodded,

"We know. Spock, was Piklamer able to access T'Hana's formula?" Spock looked as embarrassed as was possible for a Vulcan,

"Captain, I am sorry. I was not able to obstruct him – my defences were compromised by the Skarran toxin and I made an error of judgement in thinking I could use certain of my memories to paralyse him."

"Not your fault, Spock. Can you speculate about Caton's next move?"

"He wants the Enterprise, Jim. He means to give the Klingons the hyperwarp and the Morana the Enterprise. He must be stopped. Klingon incursions into galaxies beyond our own ahead of the Federation could have disastrous consequences."

"New worlds to conquer and destroy." Commented Kort.

"Not only that, Mr Kort. Think what kind of ambassadors the Klingons would make for our galaxy – we would have a hard job convincing potential allies that we're not all like the Klingons." Kirk said.

"Not all Klingons are alike." Hunter said, quietly in his friend's defence. "Surely if we persist in treating them as such, we close our minds to the possibility of change, to cooperation between our peoples."

"Now isn't the time for a philosophical debate on the issue." Kirk answered, pragmatically. "Spock, can you walk?" The response from Spock and McCoy was simultaneous and contradictory,

"Yes, captain."

"No, captain. He's in no condition to hike across this hilly terrain."

"Captain, whilst it is undeniable that my physical condition is not optimal, I am capable of moderate exertion." Kirk nodded with an apologetic glance at his CMO, who could be heard muttering under his breath even as he helped Spock to his feet. Out of the captain's earshot, he said,

"Don't think you're fooling me for an instant, Spock, I know what it's costing you to keep the lid on your mind-sifter nightmare, and now Blackstone does too. How long can the pair of you keep it in check, that's what I want to know?"

The medic saw Blackstone catch Spock's eye. Even with his Vulcan ears, he couldn't have overheard. What had Blackstone meant exactly when he said his mind would be fused with Spock's, McCoy wondered? Much as he liked the young Vulcan he wasn't sure that he was comfortable with the idea of Blackstone being inside Spock's head.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott leaned forward in the command chair on the bridge of the USS Enterprise, the better to interpret the information being relayed to him from Communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura.

"Are ye tellin' me you have a direct communication from Admiral Benjamin Caton aboard the Klingon ship, _lassie_?"

"Affirmative, _Mister_ Scott." Uhura answered, slightly irritated by the Chief Engineer's mode of address. He was possibly the only person on the ship who could get away with addressing her in such a fashion, but even so, the bridge was no place for informality. Uhura was a senior officer.

Mr Scott leaned back in his chair, impervious to Uhura's sarcasm. "Put him on the viewscreen." He said. Encountering the battlecruiser on their approach to Skara had not been entirely unexpected, after their last visit to the planet. It always paid to be prepared for the unexpected. Still, the presence of a Federation Admiral aboard a Klingon ship was cause for alarm. And Admiral Ben Caton was no ordinary Starfleet dignitary; he was about as senior as it was possible to get.

Wavering lines on the viewscreen preceded the Admiral's face and shoulders swimming into view, and tested Scotty's nerves.

"Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott in temporary command of the USS Enterprise. Admiral, may I ask if you are alright?"

"Quite alright, Mr Scott. I am being treated well by my Klingon hosts, but my presence here is, as I'm sure you have already surmised, not voluntary. The view shifted momentarily to show Caton's hands, bound before him, and the Klingon commander, Kaathos levelling a disruptor at his chest. It was a sight that had Scotty leaning forward again, in shock, whilst Uhura swivelled round in her chair, mouth agape.

"This is outrageous, Admiral. What are these Klingon devils holding you for?" At this, the view swept dizzyingly from Caton to Commander Kaathos, none too pleased at Scott's choice of words.

"Mr Scott. Standby to hear our terms." The screen went blank.

"What in the name of…" Scott was out of his seat now, looking to Uhura for an explanation for the communcation breakdown.

"Sir. The Klingons have broken off the communication. I don't understand…Wait…I'm receiving a new transmission." The viewscreen crackled and flickered back on to show Caton, his arm around Kaathos' neck. There was a brief tussle before the Klingon commander dropped to the deck, Caton holding a disruptor to his neck, to deter challengers.

"Mr Scott. Are you receiving this?" Caton yelled. "Lock on to these coordinates – and hurry – I don't have much time."

An astonished Scott contacted the transporter room and barked out the coordinates and within seconds Admiral Caton's form was dissolving before the eyes of the bridge crew as he beamed aboard the Enterprise.

Minutes later, Caton was on the bridge asking for an update on their position. "There's been no response from the Klingon ship." Scott filled him in, "Did you kill commander , Admiral?"

"No, just put him out of action for a bit."

"I don't understand how ye managed to turn a situation like that around. I just don't know how ye managed it. Those Klingons are mighty strong."

"An old trick I learned as an ensign." Caton smiled. "Mr Scott. I understand you are acting captain of this ship but I am now the ranking officer. You are relieved." Scott stared at the Admiral in disbelief. There was no question that Caton outranked him; to oppose his order would be tantamount to insubordination, but it was with great reluctance that he gave up the captain's chair.

"Admiral, I think you owe me an explanation."

"All in good time, Mr Scott. We have a situation to deal with here. Please resume your duties in engineering." Under normal circumstances, Scott would be happy to return to the part of the ship where he felt most at home, but there was something about this whole scenario that did not add up.

"With respect, Admiral. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock and the Enterprise's Chief Medical Officer are down there on Skara. My orders were to rendezvous with them and offer assistance."

"You have your orders, Mr Scott. Or are you questioning my authority?"

"Admiral Caton." Uhura interrupted, "The Klingon commander is attempting to make contact." Scott remained behind Caton's chair. Kaathos' image rippled across the screen.

"Is everything in order?" He asked Caton, to puzzled looks from the Enterprise's bridge crew. Caton flipped a switch on the console on his command chair, "Report from engineering." He said. "Has the deck been secured?" A voice that Scott did not recognise as any member of his staff replied in the affirmative. Next, Caton contacted security and another unfamiliar voice confirmed that all decks had been secured. Caton turned to Scott.

"This ship is now in the control of the Klingon Empire." As he spoke, the doors to the bridge swished open and three armed Klingon soldiers stepped onto the bridge. Instinctively Scott, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu and others present on the bridge, reached to their belts – but of course, they were unarmed.

"Take them to deck five" Caton ordered. Speaking into a communicator on his console, he issued a further order, "Commence round up of the crew. Use whatever force is necessary. Detain them and await further orders."

It had all happened impossibly fast. As they were ushered down the corridors to deck five. Scotty and his companions saw their fellow crew being rounded up by black and gold clad Klingons, brandishing disruptors, but the Klingons were not alone. Assisting them were tall, slender beings with silver skin and long, sleek iridescent hair, a race totally unfamiliar to the Enterprise crew.

"What now, Mr Scott?" Uhura asked after they had been locked down in the brig's most secure holding cell with the other officers.

"I don't know, lass." He looked around. No one knew the ship's schematics better than its Chief Engineer. If there were a way out of there, Scotty would find it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Kirk woke to see Sylviana in her willowy feminine manifestation looking down at him. She seemed to be floating above him, semi-transparent and emitting a faint ghostly light. He started, thinking he had seen a ghost. Sylviana put a finger to her lips and beckoned to him to follow her into the forest, away from the clearing where Kirk and his companions had bedded down for the night. As he rose, Kirk was aware of eyes watching him and looked around to see Spock's wakeful gaze on him. He nodded to the Vulcan as he walked after Sylviana.

"What is it?" He asked the waif-like woman in front of him.

"They have gone." She said.

"Who's gone?" Kirk asked, his brain still dull with sleep.

"Those you seek." So, it was true. That was why they had encountered no resistance at the compound – Caton and the Morana were no longer on Skara.

"Mr Spock is well?" She asked. Kirk nodded.

"He's alive." He said, glancing over his shoulder. Sylviana looked too and saw the Vulcan standing at a distance, stooped in the shadows. She smiled.

"I am glad." Despite her affirmation, she sounded sad.

Kirk felt a certain irritation at her presence. Perhaps in some illogical way he blamed her for Spock's suffering; he had felt her presence when they first arrived on Skara and nothing good had happened to him since. With a pang of embarrassment, Kirk remembered that Sylviana was a telepath. If she had read his thoughts, she gave no indication. Why had she brought him here?

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Only to offer my assistance."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure how you can help." Sylviana looked to where Spock stood, still half concealed in shadow,

"Spock knows." She said, mysteriously. Kirk looked questioningly at his First Officer. Spock crossed to Kirk's side.

"Captain, I believe that Sylviana is willing to help us stop Caton in return for medical assistance in eradicating the virus that prevents them from mating with the Skarrans."

"That is correct, Mr Spock. "It is the only way to preserve my race and will not harm the Skarrans – they will take a great leap forward in terms of their intellectual development." Kirk stared at his First Officer. Spock's face was unreadable. If he was concerned about the ethical considerations of such a venture he did not show it.

"The Skarrans, despite their great strength are not a skilled people. Their numbers are dwindling. In a few generations they face extinction unless they learn how to harness their environment to their advantage. This would be an opportunity to preserve both our races." Sylviana pleaded.

"It would not be the first time that one race affected the development of a another, and technically Sylviana's people and the Skarrans are alike. Consider how many humanoid life forms exist in our galaxy sharing common characteristics – Humans, Vulcans, Klingons to name but a few." Spock commented, "I myself am a hybrid.".

"I don't have the authority to make a decision like that." Kirk said, mindful of the Prime Directive.

"Captain, we could make an appeal to Starfleet on behalf of Sylviana and her people. Where the survival of two peoples is at stake, I am confident that intervention would be considered. With the Skarrans consent, of course, if this can be obtained."

"The Skarrans have a language. We are able to communicate," said Sylviana.

"Alright." Kirk said, "If we put your case to Starfleet, with no guarantees of acceptance, how can you help us?"

"By accompanying you in your pursuit of Caton and the Morana. I am a shape shifter, Captain. Surely I may be of use?" Kirk nodded. "We're making for our vessel. I think you know where it is." Sylviana smiled her agreement. "Unfortunately it will take us more time to reach it than you, since we can't just sprout wings and fly. Meet us there."

"I can tell you a more direct route." Sylviana said, and Kirk nodded, listening carefully to her directions. Beside him, Spock slumped. Kirk grabbed his First Officer by the arm to steady him. Spock twisted his neck away from his captain and moaned. Kirk pulled him around gently so that he could look Spock in the face – the Vulcan's eyes were rolling madly. Kirk felt himself being pushed away as Spock sank to his knees, hands covering his face.

"McCoy!" Kirk yelled, but it was Blackstone who reached them first. Bending over Spock, the young Vulcan touched his temples and his own face contorted. For several moments both Vulcans were locked together, seemingly struggling against an invisible foe. Then, suddenly they parted and both were still.

Kirk caught McCoy's eye and saw his own concern mirrored in the medic's face. It was left to Spock to reassure them, "Captain, I apologise for my relapse – I assure you that, thanks to Mr Blackstone's prompt assistance, I am quite recovered."

"The hell you are." McCoy rasped, as he ran a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair. To Jim, he said, far enough away he hoped, to be out of even Vulcan earshot, "Blackstone's not strong enough to shore Spock up for long. He needs help from a skilled Vulcan healer, Jim."

"He'll have it." Kirk asserted, "Just as soon as we get off this goddam planet and stop Caton hijacking the Enterprise." He looked around, suddenly remembering Sylviana and her promise, but she had long since melted into the Skarran night.

"The warp core of this vessel is primitive compared to our own. It is going to take longer than I thought to convert it to hyperwarp." Piklamer told Caton. He had just spent several hours crawling through Jeffries tubes on the Enteprise's engineering deck and looked exhausted, his skin glistening with silvery beads of sweat. Caton switched off the video monitor, unpertutbed. He had been resting in the captain's quarters, reacclimatizing himself with the feel of a Starship. He had been just thirty years old when he took his first command, but even so he had felt cheated – he should have been promoted sooner. If it had not been for his timely commendations, he might have had to wait even longer.

Inevitably, being aboard a starship evoked memories of the past, and surprisingly, not just of the years when he had commanded his own ship, but of his years as an ensign, particularly of his years aboard the Heracles with George Woodhouse. And further back at the Academy where he had sought out Woodhouse looking for revenge and found that friendship would be much more useful to him.

From the outset, Caton had recognised that George Woodhouse was destined for great things. He had shone as a cadet and graduated first in his class. Attaching himself to Woodhouse had been a touch of genius. Caton squirmed, remembering how he had ingratiated himself with the rising star that was George Woodhouse, and smiled, remembering how richly it had paid off.

It had been Woodhouse who vouched for him, got him aboard the Heracles when Starfleet had doubts about his suitability to serve aboard a starship – he had been selected for service on a spaceship – a lesser vessel, where he might have passed his days in endless ferrying to and fro between spaceports and on insifnigicant missions while Woodhouse explored the far corners of the galaxy, captain of his own ship.

It had not been all one-sided. True, Caton had done his share of sucking up and ego-massaging and fawning in Woodhouse's presence, but he had also done him some favours, including introducing him to his lovely wife, an act of self sacrifice if ever there was one, for if he had given her the least encouragement, Kat, he was convinced, would have been his for the taking. It had almost destroyed him to let her go and thinking of it, even now, across all these years released a fury in him so intense, that he had to pace the room to bring it under control.

His anger unappeased, Caton swiped a row of old-fashioned leather-bound books off Kirk's shelf – who even kept books these days? Kirk. Another upstart Academy golden boy. His own ship at twenty-five. Twenty-five! The youngest Starship captain in the fleet, ever. Earlier, he had looked through Kirk's personal effects, seen the medals, commendations, accolades. Now his eyes scanned the cabin taking in the captain's career, his life, the kind of man he was. _Just like Woodhouse_. There would always be more. This time Caton's fist came down hard on Kirk's computer console, leaving his hand bloodied and throbbing with pain, but still it was not enough. Wresting the console from Kirk's desk, he hurled it across the room, smashing it into the farthest corner.

Caton ran his fingers along the smooth wall of Kirk's captain's quarters, leaving behind a streak of scarlet blood. This was what defined James T Kirk, this ship and all it meant to him. But perhaps there was something that he valued even more than his command and Caton had been foolish enough to leave it behind on Skara. He should not have left the Vulcan on Skara; he saw that now. Piklamer had insisted that they leave him to his madness, and the Klingons had no place in their ship for a crazy Vulcan. Caton calmed himself satisfied, for now, with the thought that when Kirk found his precious Mr Spock, as he surely must have by now, it would be a stranger's lunatic eyes that stared emptily back into his.

Kirk looked around the cramped bridge of the pirate ship. It felt good to be back aboard a spaceship, even if it was only the one commandeered from the pirates pursuing Weston. Good too, to have Spock back by his side. En route to the ship, they had met up with T'Hana, Kravok and T'Sorf and Sylviana, who was an invisible presence, conserving her energy ready to assume whatever form might help them most when the time was right.

They were in orbit now, around Skara and Spock had already pinpointed the positions of the Enterprise and the Klingon vessel. The information that he relayed to Kirk presented them with a puzzle.

"Why has no-one attacked?" McCoy asked, thinking aloud. "If Caton wants the Enterprise, why hasn't he taken a shot at her?"

"A disabled Enterprise is not what Admiral Caton wants, Doctor."

"Spock's right." Kirk said, grimly, "If I were him, I'd be looking for some way to persuade Scotty to beam me aboard ship. Take the Enterprise from within."

"Mr Scott is unaware of the Admiral's treachery, is he not?" Spock said. "That confers on the Admiral a certain advantage."

"Can we assume that Caton is already aboard the Enterprise?" Hunter asked.

"Impossible to say with any accuracy, however, we would be wise to factor that assumption in to any plan on how to proceed." Replied Spock.

"And if so, then Scotty and the rest of the crew are probably being detained, most likely on deck five." said Kirk

"What if they already know we're here?" McCoy asked.

"Unlikely, doctor since I have taken great care to plot a course that will shield us from detection – unless, of course they are specifically searching for a small craft, which is unlikely. They will assume that you and the Captain arrived with the Enterprise and beamed down from there."

"Which confers on us a certain advantage." Kirk said, thoughtfully.

"T'Hana, how long will it take Piklamer to fit the hyperwarp to the Enterprise's warp core?" The Klingon woman shrugged. Spock had returned her memory to her but she was still finding her way back to it.

"That depends on whether he has managed to stabilise the porathium sufficiently to proceed. Since he has some knowledge of my formula, it is likely that he has already begun. If he has, there is a necessary cooling phase during which the porathium metamorphoses."

"How long?" Kirk asked, impatiently, and was surprised by the reply.

"Around three days."

"Even were Mr Scott to cooperate, that could not be reduced." Spock pointed out. "He has intimate knowledge of the Enterprise's mechanisms and his scientific and engineering knowledge is inestimable, but only T'Hana has experience of handling porathium for this purpose."

"I've read some of Mr Scott's research papers on warp facilities. He is more than capable of advising Piklamer." T'Hana agreed, adding that she too, was aware of the contribution the Enterprise's Chief Engineer had made to this field. Kirk was beginning to feel that the already high opinion he had of his Chief Engineer's capabilities, was still inadequate. He had never underestimated Scotty's ability and knew that Spock held him in high esteem – in itself a considerable accolade but hearing him praised in this way by his peers was a reminder of how lucky he was to have the Scotsman aboard.

"Scotty would die rather than assist the Klingons." McCoy said, a miserable image of his friend and drinking partner being submitted to torture presenting itself in his mind. Kirk nodded. Of that he needed no convincing.

"There is a further problem." T'Hana pointed out, "The closer the Morana get to making the transwarp operational, the trickier it will be to dismantle. Even if we were able to beam aboard the Enterprise, I would require assistance to accomplish such a task. I do not know if Mr Scott alone would well-versed enough "

"And we can't count on Scotty's being available to assist – they'll have him under lock and key somewhere." Kirk said.

The scientists carried on discussing the hyper warp and T'Hana's discovery; it seemed to Kirk that he was the only one who hadn't read all the latest research papers on the subject as names and article titles were bandied back and forth. He was on the point of interrupting, time being of the essence, when a name suddenly caught his attention and he looked up to find McCoy looking at him.

"Did someone just mention Nancy Weston?" Kirk asked, interrupting. Hunter replied,

"Yes, Captain. Nancy was a friend of mine back in our university days. A brilliant, but unconventional mind. She married a xenoentomologist and I believe they went into business shipping cargo. Nancy kept abreast of research and regularly contributed to academic engineering journals. She and your Mr Scott collaborated on a piece quite recently." Kirk smiled. Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Tell me, Mr Spock, if we were to beam Nancy Weston aboard the Enterprise, would she have the skills required to assist in deactivating the hyperwarp?"

"I assume your question is conjectural since Ms Weston is…"

"Spock, just answer the question."

"Yes, Captain. As an engineer Ms Weston would be able to contribute to what you suggest."

"Contribute?"

"She would require the assistance of someone with expert knowledge of porathium and experience of handling it." Spock said, glancing at T'Hana.

"Nancy Weston is aboard a warp- disabled cargo ship less than a stone's throw from here." Kirk announced to another, inevitable raised eyebrow from his First Officer.

"Blackstone, I'd like you to navigate. Set a course for our last known point of contact with the Aurora, allowing for drift. Spock, can we get more than minimum warp out of this…rustbucket?"

"I will investigate the 'rustbucket's' potential, Captain." Spock answered, with that look of his that was for those who knew him, the nearest thing to a smile.

"If I only knew what those Klingon devils are up to." Scotty said, for the umpteenth time.

"Do you think the captain's in trouble down there?" Ensign Chekov asked. He too had been pacing the room, unable to settle.

"There's no way of finding out with a ship crawling with Klingons and us in the brig." Scotty sighed, "I designed the security mechanism on these doors myself – there's no way of breaking out of here." He followed ensign Sulu's gaze to the ceiling, "And don't think we can crawl out of here through the ducting. This is a hermetically sealed room."

"So we just have to sit here and do nothing while the Klingons take over the ship?" Uhura asked.

"Aye, that's about the long and the short of it. Unless someone can come up with a better plan?" All eyes were on Scotty.

"Three days!" Commander Kaathos was not encouraged by the news. He had assumed that fitting the hyperwarp would be a couple of hours work for an advanced people such as the Morana must be to have perfected it as a means of space travel in the first place. H'Narth had explained it to him - crystals that powered the hyperwarp occurred naturally and in some abundance in the Morana's galaxy. Here they had needed to mine for a substitute, bretinium and combine it with the notoriously unstable porathium and even so the bretinium was slow to react with the porathium. Three days was the best estimate Piklamer could give him for the right reaction to occur. And meanwhile he had to circle this god-forsaken wilderness of a planet, waiting.

Kaathos was not interested in the science, only the outcome.

Caton had promised him the formula to reproduce the reaction from the combined minerals. The plan was for Kaathos to return to Klingon where a ship would be converted for the hyperwarp and the Klingons would then use it to travel to the Morana's galaxy, where they could mine for the pure crystals available in abundance there. At last, the means by which to bring the Federation under Klingon rule would be at the Klingon's disposal.

Kaathos prepared to beam aboard the Enterprise, leaving H'Narth to stand for him in his absence, about which he had some reservations – H'Narth was an ambitious warrior, but he was also loyal to the Empire, and his previous Commander had spoken highly of him. But he was inclined to be rash, to let his emotions rule him. A little Vulcan logic and control would serve him well, Kaathos thought, laughing at his own joke.

He had requested that he be beamed straight onto the bridge. Materialising in the nerve- centre of a ship like the Enterprise was an exhilarating experience, even for a battle-hardened warrior like Kaathos, and he stood for a few moments drinking it in.

Compared to the functional, brooding darkness of his own bridge, she was excessively decorous. Kaathos ran a hand along the shiny red rail separating the support stations from the command chair and the helm. Forward of these, and taking up almost the entirety of the forward bulkhead, the giant viewscreen was filled with the predatory image of Kaathos's own ship hanging eerily still in space. Then, he remembered that he was aboard the ship that had destroyed the Vr'Tsak and he wished that he could destroy it, not hand it over to the Morana.

Caton rose from the command seat to greet him. "She is a fine ship, isn't she?" Kaathos snorted,

"A ship designed for spineless fools. The Klingon battlecruiser is a ship for a warrior."

"Perhaps, but you can't deny that the Federation Starship has a certain elegance of design." Kaathos grunted. Caton laughed, "Don't worry my Klingon friend. I may appreciate the aesthetics of this ship, but I am no friend of Starfleet. Surely I have done enough favours for the Klingon Emprire over the years to demonstrate where my loyalty lies?" Kaathos grunted again. He asked,

"The ship is secured?"

"Yes. Crewmembers are confined on decks five and six. We will commence beaming them down to Skara shortly. We can run this ship on a skeleton crew of Klingons and Morana. Officers are in the brig. It may be useful to take them along – the Chief Engineer in particular may be of use if he can be enticed to share his knowledge and experience of the ship's workings." Kaathos nodded, satisfied that everything was proceeding according to plan.

"One more thing." Caton added, "Captain Kirk. I want him dead. You will return to Skara and hunt him down when this is over. Promise me that you will make it your personal mission." Kaathos faced Caton, his face as void of emotion as a Vulcan's. Then, he smiled, a slow, snarling grin that transformed his face into something cruel and devilish. "It is in these moments when you show your raw emotions that we are most alike." He said. Caton misunderstood him, "We are not alike."

"I was not referring to us. To you and I." Caton regarded him, quizzically.

"I meant we Klingons and you Humans." Kaathos laughed, "And the Vulcans too beneath their logic and their thin veneer of control. We are all governed by the same instincts; they are what make us who we are. Carried to its _logical _conclusion this way of thinking could make enemies – or allies of us all."

"And where would that leave me?" Caton said.

"There is a Klingon word to describe what you are." Replied Kaathos, "_Hit'er'lok. _It means…"

"I know what it means." Caton said, tersely.

"Forgive me. I forget that your mastery of Klingon language and culture is exceptional." Kaathos bowed and turned to exit via the turbolift.

As the doors swished shut behind him, Caton sank in to the Command chair, suddenly exhausted. Was it true what Kaathos had said, that he was a man without roots, without a people, without a brother? _One who walks alone_. The Klingon language was not usually a subtle one, but this particular word had multiple layers of meaning, some less complimentary than others. Which had Kaathos intended in his case, Caton wondered?

Caton had turned his back on his own kind and he could never be fully accepted by the Klingons, simply because rejecting your own was anathema to them, against their code of honour that was bound up with family and tradition. Not for the first time, he considered the extent to which he had isolated himself, but he did not dwell on it. The Klingons would never welcome him as one of their own, but he had earned their respect, and if it was for all the reasons that would make his fellow Humans shun him, then so much the better.

_Author's note – Hope this compensates for the shortness of the previous chapter. Exciting final chapters to follow soon!_


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's note: Apologies - I put this out as chapter Twenty-five yesterday - got in a muddle with my chapter headings. Thanks to Yamina Chan for pointing this out. Hope it hasn't caused too much confusion._

**Chapter Twenty-four **

Spock managed to coax warp two out of the pirate craft, but in order to evade detection by either the Klingon battlecruiser or the Enterprise it had been necessary to set a course that kept them on the far side of Skara, meaning a delay in leaving the Skarran system.

"I can't quite get used to having Klingons aboard ship and not in the brig." McCoy said to Hunter, "How exactly did you and Kort become friends?"

"How does any friendship begin?" Hunter said, "but with shared interests, common pursuits, time spent together building up trust. Kort and I are scientists. Kort contacted me because he had read about some research I had been doing. We corresponded and met up when we could – Kort had already left Klingon but it was not easy for him to obtain work - when I got the chance to work at the science station on Ravik I needed a partner and he was the obvious choice. Of course the authorities took some persuading."

"And when Ravik was attacked?" McCoy asked, gently.

"I lost everything. My wife, daughter. We were out riding – Kort, Blackstone and I when Ravik took its first hit. Those were dark days, Doctor, best consigned to the past. One thing I learned was that when a man is willing to risk his life for yours, he becomes something more than a friend. Even the word brother is inadequate." McCoy nodded, thoughtfully.

"And Blackstone? He said you saved his life on Ravik. Is he a brother too?"

Hunter laughed,

"Stephen is more like a son. He was so young when we met him. I knew his parents, both excellent scientists."

"He's not your typical Vulcan."

"No." Hunter admitted, guardedly. "Stephen had accompanied his parents to Ravik but was supposed to return to Vulcan after a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, soon after arriving, he contracted a fever and was confined to the sanitorium for six months. It was during his recuperation period that the attacks occurred. He then spent two years trying to survive on that ruin of a planet with a Human and a Klingon his closest companions and role models. He missed out on three crucial years of his Vulcan education. When he left the rehab facility to return to Vulcan, he had lost more than his family – he had lost his identity. Vulcan was an alien world to him when he returned there."

"He wasn't able to re-engage with Vulcan ways."

"Stephen struggled with his emotions. You are aware, of course, that Vulcans are not devoid of emotion? Their impassivity is a construct that takes years to build. Under it all, they _feel_ like you and I. More so. The Vulcans almost destroyed themselves with their unbridled passions."

McCoy nodded. He knew all of this, had discussed it many times with Spock. From his point of view, suppressing emotion was not a healthy activity, not for humans at any rate, and since the Enterprise's First Officer was half human, the doctor saw it as his duty to encourage him to share his feelings.

Spock was not in agreement; he regarded his human half as a chink in his Vulcan armour that must be compensated for with concentrated effort. It was a topic on which they would eternally disagree. What amazed McCoy was that Spock had chosen to live amongst Humans where he was surrounded constantly with emotional incontinence.

Interestingly, Kirk, his closest friend, was a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve and Spock had witnessed the Captain use his human emotions to resolve command dilemmas or make command decisions on many occsions. In McCoy's opinion, Spock was fascinated by the very thing he purported to reject.

Blackstone, being an unknown quantity to the doctor, was a source of worry for him. He had no idea how the young Vulcan might act in a situation where he could not maintain control. More to the point, if Blackstone were to lose control, what might that mean for Spock?

"How is Mr Spock faring?" Hunter asked, as if he had been intruding on McCoy's thoughts.

"He's still in poor shape – under other circumstances I'd have him strapped down in sickbay, but he's insisting that Blackstone can support him, for now. And I'm shoring him up with medication."

"There was not time on Skara for me to become properly acquainted with your Mr Spock, but I did observe him to be a most determined individual." McCoy rolled his eyes,

"Tell me about it."

"You and Captain Kirk are fortunate to have such a man at your side, but I suspect you know that already." McCoy shifted, and muttered something about going to check on the stubborn Vulcan.

"Dr McCoy." Hunter said after him, "He values your friendship, too, not just the Captain's." He caught the flustered medic's eye, and smiled, "And he's not the only one capable of dissembling around here."

"Captain Kirk. I have the Aurora on the viewscreen." Blackstone beckoned Kirk over to what served as a viewscreen aboard this ship, though to Kirk it seemed no bigger than the computer monitor in his quarters.

"Right where we left her." Kirk said, satisfied.

"Not exactly, Captain. She has drifted approximately three point two three kilometres from her last co-ordinates." Spock looked at Jim with that suggestion of a smile, saying,

"Indeed, Captain, Mr Blackstone's accuracy is most refreshing." Kirk knew when he was being teased.

"Spock, I want to speak with the Westons." Spock nodded,

"It may take a few moments, Captain. This vessel's communications systems are not up to standard." Even so, Spock had contact with the Aurora in seconds.

There was a moment's silence as Weston and Kirk came face to face over the distance between them."

"Weston." Kirk said, grudgingly acknowledging the man's presence.

"Hopkirk, I mean Captain Kirk." Replied Roger Weston. He was visibly anxious. "I hope that your mission to Skara was successful." Kirk ignored the question. "Weston. I need to speak to your wife. We'll be docking alongside you shortly – have Nancy ready to board.

"What do you want with Nancy?" Asked Weston.

"That's none of your business, mister."

"Nancy is my _wife_"

"Don't worry, Weston, she won't be harmed. We just need to borrow her for a while. She may be able to help us." Kirk saw a spark of something on Weston's face. Damn the man. No doubt he was already wondering how to turn that to his advantage.

"How are the prisoners?" Kirk asked.

"Still safely in the hold. But I would like to know how long you intend to leave us marooned in space, Captain. Our supplies won't last forever, especially with our guests to feed."

"You'll be…rescued when I say so, Mr Weston, not before. And your cooperation now would be a good step in that direction." Weston's jaw dropped and Kirk permitted himself a smug smile – if Weston had thought to broker some kind of deal out of Nancy and what she could offer, Kirk's words were calculated to show him the error of his ways. Under no circumstances would the captain of the Enterprise negotiate with such a man.

It pained Kirk even to set eyes on the Aurora's captain. Nancy he could not get the measure of. Clearly she had colluded with her reprobate husband in smuggling the rocosymonite. How could she be the same woman whom Spock and the others held in such high esteem as a scientist? "_Simple, Jim_. _She_ _compartmentalises_," he heard McCoy say. Kirk could compartmentalise with the best of them but he still had room for conscience. Did people like Caton and Nancy?

The woman sitting opposite him now was the cool scientist at ease talking with her peers. Earlier, seeing Kirk and McCoy again, she had shown no sign of remorse for her recent actions, only curiosity about why she had been brought to the pirate ship. In her mind, she had already moved on.

"Hypothetically, it would be possible." Kirk heard her say,

"I'm not interested in hypotheticals," he said, sharply, "I need to know it can be done." Nancy looked thoughtful.

"I believe I can help you, captain, however there is the question of what you can do for me in return." Kirk sighed. Here it was then, the inevitable plea-bargaining. He cut her off,

"I know what you're after and the most I'm prepared to offer is that you and your husband will serve time in an open facility instead of doing hard labour on some god-forsaken penal planet in a forgotten corner of the galaxy."

"Why, Captain Kirk, I was only going to ask for a glass of water." Nancy smiled at him, teasingly, "But I accept your offer. It's time Roger and I had a break from all this ferrying to and fro. We both have research to catch up on." Kirk pursed his lips in exasperation. He left Spock and the other scientists to explain what was required. McCoy had requested permission to check on the captives and Kirk sent Blackstone with him for protection.

Left alone on the bridge Kirk contemplated his adversary. From Spock's descriptions of his behaviour and demeanour, McCoy had speculated about Caton's mental state and whatever way you looked at it the man was dangerous. His callous abandonment of George Woodhouse was, it seemed the least of his crimes. Hunter and Kort believed him to be responsible for the attacks on Ravik and he was almost certainly responsible for the destruction of the Curie. He was a mass-murderer on a grand scale and Kirk was determined to bring him to justice.

It seemed hardly credible that Caton would perpetrate such evil for the sake of obtaining the hyperwarp for the Klingons. What had made him turn traitor? Had he suffered a betrayal himself? Just how far back did his hatred extend? Kirk felt a sudden dart of insight, something like a hunch. Did it have something to do with George Woodhouse? Something that predated their meeting at the academy? On the face of it, it was a preposterous supposition – and yet. George had told him that they had been friends at Starfleet.

Kirk thought of his own friends, McCoy and Spock particularly, of the certainty he felt about the extent of their loyalty, the depth of their bond, and concluded that no such true friendship could ever have existed between Caton and Woodhouse, at least on Caton's side.

Suppose Caton had realised at an early stage in his career that Woodhouse would always eclipse him, that whatever he did he would always be the lesser man? Aligning himself with George, earning the man's affection and his trust, becoming his acolyte had been a deliberate strategy calculated to serve his career well. It was a common enough tactic. But it had not been enough. What if Caton needed to see his own star rise whilst Woodhouse's grew dim?

On Vascus, he had found a way. George had told Kirk that he believed he had been close to brokering a deal with the Klingons when Caton had engineered their escape. What kind of deal had Caton brokered? A lifetime of intelligence on Starfleet for giving him the credit and he himself would take care of Woodhouse.

Except George had refused to die. Suffering horrific injuries, he could never hope to resume his former career path, which would have seen him a Starship captain in a few short years, but instead he had become a teacher and later he had accepted his position at Starbase Ten. Kirk wondered why George had never confronted Caton, never acted on his suspicions. There had been no proof; he could not trust his own memory of the accident, but surely he must have been curious to look Ben Caton in the eye and see what was reflected back?

Their paths had not crossed in all the years since Vascus. Caton had gone from strength to strength, sometimes through uncanny good luck (Kirk had done his research.) So many occasions when he had been in the right place at the right time. Now Kirk was sure he knew the reason why – he had received help from Klingon High Command. The higher they could help him rise, the more he could help them. It had been a symbiotic relationship of the most loathsome kind. Kirk felt a bad taste in his mouth, and realised that he was clenching his fist.

"Jim."

"Back already, Bones?"

"The prisoners are healthy enough. I can't help feeling mad that the rocosymonite's sitting unused when it could be saving lives."

"Don't worry, Bones. Getting that rocosymonite to somewhere it can be of use will be our top priority when we re-take the Enterprise." The medic nodded, thoughtfully.

"You okay, Jim? You seemed deep in thought when I walked in here."

"Fine, Bones."

"In that case, I'll go annoy Spock. Make sure he takes a rest." Kirk smiled. That's what friends did. Looked out for one another. In a way he pitied Caton, for he knew nothing of that.

Kirk's plan for boarding the Enterprise worked on the assumption that she had already been taken. It involved returning to Skara and landing back on the planet's surface. From there, they would contact the Enterprise and Kirk would sound suitably surprised to hear Caton, not Scotty in command. As the captain outlined the bones of his plan, he was aware of heads nodding their agreement around the table, but when he had finished, he noticed also, the grave faces. In conclusion, he added, "Obviously, there is potential for things to go wrong, but I believe we can do this. Comments, please." McCoy was the first to speak and Kirk could have predicted his response,

"I don't know, Jim. Sounds risky."

"There are always risks, doctor, but we're trained to offset them. Anyone else?" Kirk caught his First Officer's eye and saw the Vulcan incline his head a fraction. Spock was on board. That was enough.

Given the urgency of their mission, the return to Skara seemed to take little time. Most of it was spent in going over the details of Kirk's plan, ironing out inconsistencies, putting contingencies into place, all calculated to offset the risks that McCoy still felt uneasy about. By the time that they landed on the planet's surface, everyone knew their role and Kirk was confidant that overall, morale was positive. Even McCoy's usually persistent negativity had been replaced by acceptance.

"Kirk to Enterprise." Kirk took a deep breath and hoped he sounded convincing. "Scotty, come in, please."

"Captain Kirk."

"Who is this? Where's Mr Scott?" McCoy noted with amusement that Kirk was acting out his part even though Caton did not have him on visual, with his expression showing puzzlement and a little impatience.

"Admiral Caton speaking, Captain. I have assumed temporary command of the Enterprise, as the senior ranking officer aboard." Kirk allowed for a dramatic pause.

"Admiral Caton? I don't understand, Sir."

"I'll explain Captain but not over a communicator. Relay your coordinates to me and I'll have you beamed aboard." Kirk signalled to Spock who did the necessary calculations.

"Standing by, Admiral." Kirk advised, as he felt the familiar tingling that accompanied the start of beaming by transporter.

They materialised aboard the Enterprise, Spock slumped against McCoy, feigning unconsciousness. Kirk moved quickly to help support his weight. He gave what he hoped was a convincing start to see a Klingon aboard his ship. He looked from Kaathos to Caton, "What's going on? What's this man doing aboard my ship?" The doors to the transporter room swished open and two more Klingons walked in armed with disruptors.

"Take the captain and his companions to the brig and make sure they are confined separately from the other officers." Caton ordered, ignoring Kirk's questions.

"I'm not going anywhere without an explanation, mister." Kirk said and was rewarded with a blow from Caton that knocked him sideways. He picked himelf up, tasting blood and was about to retaliate when Kaathos stepped forward and struck him another blow, this time with the edge of his disruptor. Kirk hit the floor seeing stars and everything went dark.

He awoke to find McCoy dabbing at his head. "Hold still, Jim. Give yourself a minute," the medic cautioned. Kirk ignored his advice and sat up, immediately feeling nauseous. "Stick your head down for a bit." McCoy said, trying again. Kirk obeyed and felt better in seconds.

"Sylviana?" He said when he had recovered.

"She is here, Captain." Spock's voice. Kirk turned around, trying not to grimace – he knew McCoy had his eagle eye on him. In the palm of his hand Spock held a tiny insect, which flew into the air and shape-shifted into Sylviana's more familiar form.

"How many guards?"

"Only one. If Sylviana assumes her previous form, she can slip under the force field guarding the entrance." Spock said. "She will then need to overcome the guard in order to free us." Sylviana nodded, disappearing before their eyes. They watched, fascinated, as she flew under the force field and metamorphosed on the other side, into a fully formed Klingon male. McCoy whistled softly.

"I'd give my left leg to be able to pull a stunt like that." Spock looked at him in puzzlement,

"Really, doctor? I fail to see the relative benefit of such a sacrifice."

"I didn't mean it literally, Spock." McCoy said, without a trace of impatience for once; he was still too glad to see the Vulcan alive to be irritated by him.

Outside the cell, Sylviana greeted the Klingon guard with a swift karate chop to the neck. He dropped like a stone. "Ouch," Said, McCoy seeing how awkwardly the man landed, "That's gonna hurt when he wakes up." Relieving the Klingon of his disruptor, Sylviana then used it to blast through the panel to the force field controls and destroy the mechanism. Within moments, Kirk, Spock and McCoy were freed.

"Nice work." Kirk said. "Can you hold that shape long enough to get us to the transporter room?"

With Sylviana levelling the disruptor at them and ushering them down the corridor and into the turbolift, they reached the transporter room unchallenged. Once there, Spock quickly beamed Kort, Hunter, Blackstone, Kravok and Nancy aboard using the coordinates he had calculated whilst still on Skara. Kort and Hunter passed around an assortment of weapons.

"Now we split up." Kirk said. As they had planned, they split into two groups, Kirk, Hunter and Sylviana heading for the bridge, Spock and the others to engineering.

"Wait for the diversion, but if it fails to happen, you must do what you can to overcome whatever resistance you meet there." Kirk said to Spock, grimly. He did not wish them luck, knowing that the Vulcan would already have calculated the odds of success, without factoring in the random element of chance.

The turbo lift opened onto a sparsely populated bridge. Kirk and Hunter reacted with lightening speed, levelling their phasers at anything that moved, taking out three Klingons between them before Kaathos and Caton could work out what was happening.

Of the two, Kaathos was the first to reach for his weapon. But he was too slow. Kirk stunned him with his phaser and the Klingon commander dropped to the floor, leaving Caton to gape open-mouthed in disbelief at the scene before him. With Hunter covering him, Kirk stepped forward to disarm the Ambassador, but Caton stepped back, levelling his disruptor at Jim.

"I order you to put your weapons down." He said authoratatively. "I am taking part in a covert operation. Your interference could jeopardise the safety of this vessel and its crew."

His ship and its crew. The two things that a Starship captain pledged to protect and defend with his life. Kirk was not fooled for an instant.

"Was allowing my First Officer to be tortured part of your operation?" He asked.

"Mr Spock was not tortured."

"No? You destroy his mind and you claim that isn't torture. You'll have to do better than that, Caton."

"It was for the greater good." Kirk laughed out loud,

"The greater good! You call the murder of millions of innocent lives on Ravik a greater good. What good is served by such indiscriminate slaughter?" Caton opened his mouth to speak, but Kirk cut him off, "The only good you're serving, mister is your own."

"Lies!" Caton yelled, his fury obvious in his features. He lunged at Kirk, knocking the phaser from his hand. Kirk cursed himself for being taken off guard. In seconds, Caton had turned the tables on him and now it was Jim being held with a disruptor to his head.

Hunter dared not fire for risk of shooting Kirk. Caton backed Kirk to the turbolift. As the doors opened, and Caton shoved him through, Kirk yelled back to the bridge, "You have your orders, Mr Hunter. Carry them through," before Caton struck him hard on the back of his neck, and for the second time that day, everthing went black.

"Mr Spock!" Uhura saw him first; at the same time she saw one of the Klingon guards sink to the floor under a nerve pinch from the Enterprise's First Officer. The second guard followed suit, causing Uhura to blink in disbelief as a second, younger Vulcan stepped over the guard and joined Spock. There were others too, whom she did not recognise. Within seconds, Spock had deactivated the force field holding the Bridge crew, "Well, I must say we're happy to see ye, Mr Spock, even if you are lookin' a bit under the weather." Spock wasted no time in greetings.

"Mr Scott, your help is required in engineering." Tossing weapons to Sulu, Chekov and Uhura, he said, "Make your way to the bridge but proceed with caution, there are Klingons posted throughout the ship. This is Kravok, a friend. He will accompany you and pretend to be escorting you."

"Those Klingon devils had better not be interfering with my engines." Scotty exclaimed to anyone who was listening, but when Spock briefed him on what was actually going on in engineering, the Scotsman was lost for words.

"This is T'Hana and Nancy Weston. Between them, they are qualified to assist you in deactivating the hyperwarp." Scott looked from one to the other of the women, mesmerised,

"Aye, Mr Spock, but I'm the one who'll be doing the assistin'. To Nancy, he said, "I'm familiar with your work. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." T'Hana he observed with some surprise, which deepened when he took in Kort standing at her side.

"More friendly Klingons." McCoy explained, "Don't ask"

"Dr McCoy, I suggest you save explanations until such time as the Enterprise is secured."

Hunter was conflicted. Kirk had left him in no doubt of his next course of action, but as the turbolift had closed on him and Caton, Hunter's instinct was to rescue the Captain by any means possible. Beside him, Sylviana was transforming herself into a perfect replica of Commander Kaathos. Quickly, he helped her drag the real Commander to a spot where he would not be seen and crossed to the communications console to hail the Klingon ship. Then, Hunter returned to where Kaathos' lay, still out cold. "You remember what to say?"

"Yes, Sylviana answered as H'Narth's face wavered into focus on the viewscreen. "H'Narth, we have been betrayed. Caton has been working with the Morana against us. They mean to inflict damage on our ship and leave with the hyperwarp. Attack, now! Aim a torpedo at the secondary hull, then await further orders. On no account attack again before I issue the command. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander, but a single hit will not disable the Enterprise."

"Do not question my judgement. I have a plan in place, to seize the ship whilst protecting the hyperwarp. Your interference will not be tolerated."

"Should I beam more men aboard?" H'Narth asked, uncertain.

"Just await my orders." H'Narth put a fist to his chest then extended his arm in the Klingon salute, then the screen went blank.

"He was suspicious." Sylviana said, turning to Hunter.

"H'Narth is ambitious. He will obey his orders." Hunter's assertion was confirmed moments later when the Enterprise took a direct hit in the lower hull, the shock waves causing even the Bridge to shudder with the impact.

"Now it's up to Spock." Hunter said, clinging to the rail as a further shock wave threatened to throw him across the Bridge.

Moments before the attack, Spock and his companions were approaching the main engine room, which was heavily guarded by Klingons and Morana.

"Gentlemen." Spock said quietly, "Any minute now, the lower hull will receive a direct hit from the Klingon battlecruiser." As the only one not already apprised of the plan, Scotty reacted with exclamations of shock.

"Mr Scott, it was necessary to create some form of diversion, to enable us to seize control of the main engine room and access the warp core. The resultant chaos from a hit to this section of the ship will provide the necessary cover.

"Ye'll be lucky if there's a warp core to access if we take a direct hit," the Chief Engineer wailed.

"I suggest we brace ourselves for impact." Spock said, ignoring Scott's remark. Seconds later, they all went sprawling. Being forewarned meant that most were able to land in a way that minimised the risk of injury. "Anyone hurt?" McCoy yelled above the wailing klaxons in the corridor. He looked around as the juddering slowed, and saw Spock pulling himself slowly to his feet. "Alright, Spock?" He asked, quietly offering the First Officer a hand.

"If I required your assistance, I would ask for it, doctor." The Vulcan answered, a spasm of pain pulling the muscles of his face into a grimace. McCoy was instantly on alert, but right on cue, Blackstone was by the Vulcan's side. McCoy saw that he was holding his arm, and said,

"Let me take a look at that." Blackstone shook his head, "No need, doctor. It is broken, however I now have the pain under control. He looked at Spock and McCoy realised that Spock's pain had been Blackstone's – their minds were inextricably linked for the time being and they felt each other's pain. Had it been Blackstone's momentary loss of control that caused Spock to snap – reliant as he was on the younger Vulcan's support? McCoy shook his head. He didn't like this one bit, but for now he had to accept it.

Weapons at the ready, they advanced on the engine room. From the alarmed shouts, they could tell that the attack had achieved the desired effect of creating chaos. Those who had escaped injury were picking themselves up off the deck, still in shock.

"Set weapons to stun." Spock ordered, already aiming his weapon at a rising Klingon. "Mr Scott, seal this room off."

Most of their opponents were already incapacitated by injury or still dulled with shock and were unable to reach for their weapons quickly enough, but there were sufficient numbers of able-bodied Klingons and Morana to put up a fight and for a time Spock and his companions were engaged in some furious fighting.

Kravok was grabbed around the throat from behind by a giant Klingon and heard the words, "Traiterous dog," snarled in his ear. His disrputor clattered across the floor into the hands of another hostile Klingon and Kravok was convinced that he was about to die. Then, he saw T'Hana fire her disruptor at his captor, and a blast of fire zipped past his ear, hurling his assailant backwards into the wall¸ whilst almost in the same moment, Kort fired on the man who had picked up Kravok's weapon. Kravok flashed T'Hana and Kort a look of gratitude, all three thinking perhaps of the strangeness of fighting their fellow Klingons.

It was Spock who came off worst, singled out in the first moments of the fighting by Piklame, who levelled his terlak at the Vulcan, inducing agonising pain. Spock dropped to his knees, followed by Blackstone. McCoy saw at once what had happened but before he could react, another Morana had him by the throat, pulling him to the floor, where they grappled together for McCoy's phaser. Seeing McCoy's predicament, Scottly finished off his own assailant with a timely fist and hauled the Moranan off the doctor in time for McCoy to stun him with his recovered phaser.

Both turned to help Spock but the Moranan had the upper hand, increasing Spock's agony as soon as he saw them advance.

"Stay back!" he warned.

"You're killing them!" McCoy seethed, seeing Blackstone crumpled on the deck, barely conscious. Without his strength, Spock could not survive.

"You are outnumbered, Piklamer." Kort said, to distract the Moranan before lunging at him. Piklamer adjusted a dial on his terlak and turned it on the Klingon. Kort crumpled in agony, then dropped to the deck with a heavy thud. The Moranan aimed his terlak again, this time at Spock.

Before he could fire, a disruptor blast took him down. Kravok lowered his weapon and he and T'Hana crossed to Kort.

"He's dead." T'Hana cried angrily, looking around for someone to fight, but it was over – all remaining Klingons and Morana had been felled.

McCoy looked from Kort to Spock, and seeing that in the Klingon's case it was hopeless, he went to assist the Vulcan. It was a crazed First Officer who raised his head to look at the medic. "Oh no." Said McCoy in lowered tones. Mr Scott took command instantly,

"Do what you can for him, doctor. Nancy, T'Hana, come with me," he said, leading them to the warp chamber, where he let out a dismayed cry on seeing what the Morana had been doing, "What the devil's this?

Leaving Spock for a moment, McCoy crossed to where Blackstone lay unmoving on the floor. After a brief assessment of his condition, McCoy pressed a hypo against the young Vulcan's arm and in seconds Blackstone stirred. His face contorted in agony, filling the medic with dread, but in a moment or two, his eyes sought out McCoy's and he nodded.

"Stephen?" McCoy said, hesitantly. "Are you alright? Can you help Spock."

"He has already, doctor." McCoy swung round to see Spock sitting up and reaching for Piklamer's terlak, "A fascinating instrument. I would welcome the opportunity to take it to pieces." McCoy shot him a look that said how much he would like to take Spock to pieces, but he held his tongue, still shaken by the madness he had seen in the Vulcan's eye only moments earlier.

Turning back to Blackstone, he said, "Kort's dead, Stephen. I'm sorry for your loss." For a moment, it seemed that Blackstone would lose his composure, but he looked up and saw Spock watching him. Their eyes locked and McCoy wondered who was drawing strength from whom. Blackstone nodded, "Kort…" his voice faltered. McCoy looked at Spock but the Vulcan looked away.

In the turbolift, Kirk cursed his stupidity. How could he have let his guard down and given Caton an opportunity to overcome him? He shook his head to clear it and saw Caton watching him.

"You won't get away with this, Caton. Any of it. When did it all start, eh? At the academy? When you realised George Woodhouse was twice the man you could ever be. You had to destroy him, didn't you? Then you found even that wasn't enough, you had to destroy everything that he stood for – integrity, decency, truth. By undermining the Federation you thought you could appease the madness eating away at you. What I still don't understand is why."

As he spoke, Kirk was acutely aware of the disruptor pressing against his ribs, of Caton's restrained silence. He saw the light flashing horizontally, then vertically on the turbolift wall. Where were they headed? Not engineering. Caton must already have guessed that treachery was afoot down there. Kirk's heart was racing, still pumping adrenaline through his system, urging him to act, but the disruptor was a reality he couldn't ignore.

It would be foolish to underestimate Caton. He may have seized power through treachery and committing atrocities, but that too required a kind of intelligence, and Kirk did not doubt that Caton had a keen intelligence, a sharp, if damaged mind. He had once been a starship captain. Kirk needed to think like Caton. It was no use asking what he, Jim would do in this situation; he had to understand what made Ben Caton tick.

Suddenly it became clear to Kirk. They were headed to the transporter deck. Caton meant to beam aboard the Klingon battle cruiser. He had to reclaim the Enterprise or destroy her, for otherwise, he knew that the Federation, not the Klingon Empire would obtain the hyperwarp.

The turbolift doors opened to an eerily deserted corridor on deck seven. Caton pushed Kirk roughly outside and ushered him along the corridor towards the transporter room. Beads of sweat broke out on Kirk's forehead and coalesced. Was Hunter going to let him down? How many minutes had passed since they left the bridge. Five? Six? Any time now. He tensed in anticipation. Then it happened. An explosive shock battered the Enterprise's lower hull and the whole ship lurched sideways, knocking Kirk and Caton off balance. Caton went down with a thud. Kirk, prepared for the shock, bounced off the corridor wall and staggered to keep on his feet.

As Caton crashed onto the deck, his disruptor flew out of his hand and went shooting across the floor, clattering loudly. Kirk saw it sliding towards him and reached to grasp it only to find it spinning away from him as an aftershock tilted the corridor sideways again. And then Caton was on him, crushing him with his heavy bulk. Jim struggled against the larger man, shocked by Caton's sheer, brute physicality.

For a few seconds, they pushed against each other, then Kirk brought his leg up, kicked off Caton's chest and somersaulted backwards out of his opponent's grasp. A quick sideways glance confirmed that there was no time to reach for the disruptor and both men circled each other defensively, each looking for an opportunity to attack.

Caton took a swipe at Kirk with his bear-like arm. Jim ducked, feeling the draught, hearing the whistle of a blow that could have knocked him senseless. He retaliated with an adrenaline-packed roundhouse kick, but Caton, agile as he was strong, dodged in time and recovered quickly to take a sickening, rib-cracking lunge at Kirk's midriff. Winded and gasping, Kirk staggered backwards against the wall, willing himself back to strength, but as he struggled to stand upright, Caton advanced on him ready with a power- backed punch that crashed a second later into Kirk's face, splintering bone.

Jim felt himself glide down the wall onto the deck, choking on blood trickling down the back of his throat. The last thing he saw before the lights went out on him for the third time was Caton bend over to retrieve the disruptor and turn to point it at his chest.

_Author's note - Poor Kort. I rather liked that big Klingon. The decision to kill him off wasn't taken lightly. Hope his death wasn't too much of a shock._ Aurelan


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-five**

Spock contacted the Bridge and was surprised to hear Hunter's voice, not the Captain's. "I'm sorry, Mr Spock. Caton overpowered Kirk and hauled him off in the turbolift." It was not the best news Spock had heard all day. After telling Hunter to seal off the bridge and await further instructions, he turned his attention to Mr Scott and the others working on the warp core, but he was aware of McCoy, who rarely missed a trick already advancing towards him with a question.

"Something's wrong, isn't it, Spock?" It never ceased to amaze Spock how the doctor managed to read him when his face betrayed no emotion. It was almost as though McCoy had a kind of sixth sense where emotions were concerned – he could pick up the slightest nuance, a useful skill in his chosen profession, but sometimes a source of irritation for Spock. This was one of those times. He needed to think and McCoy's inevitably emotional reaction to Hunter's news would impede him. It was already difficult enough maintaining the meld with Blackstone and keeping his thoughts from drifting into dangerous regions of his mind.

"Caton has taken the Captain." He said. The ship's surgeon glared at him in disbelief, but the expected outburst did not come.

"What now, Spock?" He asked, to Spock's surprise.

"It is likely that Caton will make for the transporter and attempt to beam himself and the captain aboard the Klingon battle cruiser, where he will attempt to use the Captain as leverage." McCoy nodded in understanding,

"Jim's life for the Enterprise." The doctor sighed. If it wasn't one, it was the other of his friends being asked to make the impossible choice. No, not impossible. Both men knew where their duty lay, but with Spock as with Jim, choosing duty would leave a gaping hole that could never be filled.

"Is it too late to stop him?"

"It is likely that Jim is already aboard the Klingon ship."

"Sonofabitch." McCoy muttered. "Spock! We could read the last coordinates on the transporter, go after him." Even as he said it McCoy realised the futility of his proposal.

"To what end, doctor? What could that possibly accomplish but our own capture?" Spock said, his voice full of weariness.

"I'm sorry, Spock. That was a crazy suggestion, a gut reaction, I guess."

"Please engage your brain when thinking, doctor, not your digestive tract." McCoy let it pass, seeing Spock's tiredness, knowing the effort the Vulcan was putting into keeping a grasp on his sanity.

He said only,"There must be something we can do."

Spock sighed, steepling his fingers against his forehead.

"Please allow me to think, doctor." McCoy moved away allowing Spock the space he needed to come up with a way to save their friend.

Some minutes later, Spock asked Kravok. "H'Narth is likely to be in command of the battlecruiser in Kaathos' absence, is he not?" Kravok agreed.

"Dr McCoy. Do what you can to revive Piklamer. I would like to speak with him at the earliest opportunity, but first, I must speak with Mr Scott"

"What are you thinking, Spock?" McCoy asked.

"I wish to make Piklamer an offer." Spock said. McCoy glared at him in disbelief, "You aren't seriously thinking of making that trade, are you? Jim's life. For what, Spock? The Enterprise? The Klingon ship? Jim would never make a decision like that. Have you gone out of your Vulcan mind? "

"Dr McCoy, I do not have time for emotional outbursts." Spock said, before heading for the matter antimatter reaction chamber.

"It's bad news – or good news depending how ye look at it, Mr Spock." Scotty informed the First Officer. Spock cocked an eyebrow.

"T'Hana's method allows for sufficient stability to be achieved for the porathium and bretinium to act together as a substitute for the element found in Piklamer's galaxy. The porosity of the hybrid crystal is maximised allowing an increase in the amount of power generated in the reaction chamber. Unfortunately, our coolant system is not equipped to deal the with the excessive heat energy that would be produced. It would result in a.."

"Warp core breach." Spock finished the Chief Engineer's sentence for him.

"Then the hyperwarp is not compatible with our present level of technology."

Scotty nodded, "I'd like to take a closer look at the mechanism, nevertheless."

"Mr Scott, you have been charged with temporarily dismantling the hyperwarp, not completing its installation." Scotty looked sheepish,

"Aye sir, it just seemed a shame not to get a look at how it works while we're at it. You of all people must appreciate that, Mr Spock." The Chief Engineer was referring to the First Officer's renowned curiosity about all things scientific which had landed him in more than a few sticky situations.

"I too, am curious, Mr Scott. However, the hyperwarp must be disabled for the time being. Please direct your energies to the task at hand." He turned to McCoy.

Spock stared down at Piklamer's lifeless form, "You have not been successful in reviving him?"

"I'm not familiar enough with his physiology to give him a shot." McCoy said, "Could do more harm than good. If I had access to sickbay, I could run a quick diagnostic but," he shrugged. They were sealed in engineering and the ship was still crawling with Klingons. He looked up from where he was crouching over the Moranan and saw Spock deep in thought. McCoy had a sudden intuition and he didn't like it. "Forget it, Spock." He said, harshly. "I know what you're thinking and it's crazy."

"Dr McCoy, you are not telepathic. You cannot possibly know what I am thinking. You have merely made a wild guess based, no doubt on some skewed emotional response to what you think you know of my psychological functioning."

"It's too dangerous, melding with Piklamer in your present state of mind – and what about Blackstone? Have you considered what effect it could have on him?"

"I was considering exactly that when you interrupted the flow of my thoughts." He paused, "Without the terlak, I doubt that Piklamer's powers of telepathy would amount to much."

"But you don't know for sure. Spock I'll certify you unfit for duty if you keep this up." McCoy threatened, but of course, Spock held the trump card,

"Doctor, reviving Piklamer may be our best chance of ensuring the Captain's survival. I am duty bound to do whatever lies in my power to guarantee his safety."

"Jim would never allow it." To himself, McCoy added, _And let's not pretend you're motivated purely by a sense of duty._

"May I remind you that I am in command in the Captain's absence? " McCoy glared at the Vulcan but he knew Spock was behind a wall he couldn't hope to penetrate. Blackstone, who had been hovering in the background, now stepped forward. McCoy looked at him, feeling uneasy. Spock planned to meld with Piklamer, but only to revive him. He would never consider invading another's mind by force. Blackstone had already shown himself willing to do so. Would he be capable of influencing Spock when the meld began?

"Thank you, Mr Blackstone, I will require your assistance. We must strengthen the link." Blackstone approached Spock wordlessly and the others looked on as the two Vulcans locked minds once again. Then, Spock approached Piklamer and placed his fingertips on the Moranan's meld points. Immediately, his face contorted with revulsion. Blackstone's expression was unchanged but his eyes were closed, and it was obvious that he was concentrating deeply.

McCoy had witnessed Spock meld with aliens before, the strangest being the Horta, a silicone-based life form on the mining planet Janus VI. He knew that sometimes a meld could become so intense that there was a danger of Spock's becoming so immersed in the other person's mind as to lose his own identity. For Spock's sake, he hoped that Blackstone could temper the effects of any foray into Piklamer's unconscious mind.

In the end, there were no dramatics, no cries of anguish such as McCoy had witnessed with the Horta, only that first expression of revulsion a few minutes of intense concentration and it was over. McCoy sighed with relief. Abruptly, Spock withdrew his fingers, Blackstone opened his eyes and Piklamer spluttered back to life. His eyes burned with hatred when he looked at Spock.

"I said we should have killed you. Caton thought madness a worse fate than death for a Vulcan with such a keen intellect and persuaded me to leave you for your precious captain to find you a vegetable."

Spock's lips were tight, a sure sign to McCoy, observing him closely, that the Vulcan was struggling with contol. Moreover, his fingers were gripped tightly around Piklamer's terlak, which he still held, and raised now to point at the Moranan.

"I am sure I do not have to explain to you the effectiveness of this instrument in the hands of a properly trained telepath." Spock said, coldly, "I have made the necessary adjustments to configure the device to comply with my own brain patterns. I advise you to remain silent until your cooperation is required."

McCoy felt his eyes popping out of their sockets. When had Spock had an opportunity to retune the terlak? The only conclusion he could come to was that Spock was lying, but Vulcans, as Spock so often reminded him, did not lie. McCoy switched his gaze to Blackstone. _Most Vulcans._ Again, he wondered, could the young Vulcan make Spock act against his will? He had felt uneasy about the meld before, but now that unease deepened. He would be watching Spock even more closely from now on.

Watching him now, he saw that Spock was looking at Blackstone with what appeared to be restrained anger.

"What is it Spock?" he asked, looking from Spock to Blackstone.

"I'm afraid I have upset Mr Spock." Stephen explained, "I was unable to resist digging deeper into Piklamer's mind during the meld. I was aware of Mr Spock's disapproval but I had to know Piklamer's mind. I.. took advantage of Mr Spock's present weakness, but I do not regret it." Blackstone looked at Spock. "Tell him, Mr Spock."

"What did you learn form Piklamer, Spock?" McCoy asked, gently, aware that Spock was deeply troubled, both by Blackstone's betrayal of trust, and what he had discovered from it.

"A great deal." Spock said, tersely. "Piklamer never intended to share the hyperwarp with the Klingons, or with Caton. He had Nor plant an explosive device aboard the battlecruiser."

Kravok and T'Hana had also been watching the First Officer. T'Hana came forward. "You must warn H'Narth, Mr Spock."

"I will speak with H'Narth, but I am not convinced that he will listen."

"He will listen to Kaathos."

"That can be arranged." Spock looked at McCoy.

"This device…" The doctor could barely bring himself to ask, "How long does Jim have, Spock?"

"One hour, ten minutes and thirty-four seconds." The Vulcan replied, with his customary precision.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-six**

Kirk was becoming used to the sensation of fighting his way back to consciousness, the gradual rearranging of his circuitry that allowed him to first hear, then see the world around him albeit in a fuzzy, unfocused sort of way. This time it was taking a little longer. Concussion? It was a possibility, but not one he could entertain in his present predicament. Gingerly, he touched his face and winced; his nose felt out of alignment – broken again, well it wouldn't be the first time. Not the first time he'd lost a tooth either. Somewhere in sickbay there was a drawer with a full set of replacement teeth that McCoy had cloned from Kirk's own. Hell, he even had doubles of some that he had worked out were the most likely to be knocked out in a fist fight.

As his brain kicked into gear, it dawned on Kirk that he wasn't on the Enterprise any more. Where was he? In some sort of holding cell. Judging by the gloomy décor and oppressive atmosphere, he was on the Klingon ship. Then, he remembered; Caton's fist ramming hard into his face, being manhandled into the transporter room whilst drifting in and out of consciousness, resisting Caton all the way until he felt the transporter beam wrap him up in its atom-exploding cocoon, then nothing until now.

Where was Caton? What story was he spinning for the Klingon commanding the ship in Kaathos's absence? Perhaps more importantly, what was Spock, now in command of the Enterprise, doing about it? Kirk was not a patient man and the thought of lying around waiting for answers didn't enter his head. Despite the sideways tip of the room and the crushing pain in his head when he stood up, he was shouting at the door of his cell within minutes of regaining his senses. He didn't have to wait long for a response.

"Captian Kirk. I see you've come to your senses." Caton.

"Return me to my ship immediately."

"I don't think so, Captain. You are more use to us here." Kirk laughed,

"As what, a hostage? A bargaining tool? Spock won't trade for my life. He knows what he has to do. Face it, Caton, you're finished."

"Just like your precious Vulcan will be if he is responsible for your death." Caton sneered. Kirk stiffened, feeling a torrent of hatred for the man before him. Caton leaned close until he risked touching the invisible forcefield keeping them apart, "If I must lose the hyperwarp, you lose your life, your First Officer loses his grip. A trade that I can live with." Kirk could see that Caton was enraged but trying not to show it. The lives of two Starfleet officers and the loss of his own career were as nothing compared to what he had recently hoped to gain from handing the hyperwarp over to the Klingons.

A Klingon guard approached and spoke with Caton in Klingon. Kirk caught a word here and there – something about the Commander of the Enterprise being on the Bridge. That couldn't be right - must mean on the viewscreen on the Bridge. They went off together, without a backwards glance. Kirk paced. There was little else he could do.

Spock's face loomed large and solemn on the battlecruiser's viewscreen. H'Narth gave a mock bow in greeting, but it was Caton who spoke, "Mr Spock, you're looking better than I ever expected to see you again." Spock ignored Caton and addressed H'Narth.

"I will not prevaricate, Mr H'Narth. Commander Kaathos is unharmed. I must inform you, however that your ship and crew are in immediate danger." H'Narth snorted. "You are not in control of your own ship, Vulcan. How dare you think to take this one? We are more than capable of defeating you in battle."

"You misunderstand me," Spock continued, "Piklamer never intended colluding with you or Caton. It was his intention to take the Enterprise and destroy your ship."

"Lies!" Caton, red-faced with anger.

"It does not matter what you believe. The truth speaks for itself," Spock said, his calmness contrasting with Caton's rage. Before Caton could rant again, H'Narth intervened,

"What proof do you have?" Commander Kaathos stepped into view beside Spock. "The Vulcan claims that an explosive device has been planted somewhere in the electro-plasma system feeding the S-2 graf unit. If what Spock says is true you will detect an upsurge in heat energy when the warp drive is engaged for use. Have it checked." H'Narth stood to attention and saluted his Commander,

"At once, Commander." There was a moment's silence whilst Spock's counterpart in the Klingon command centre leaned over his console, checking readings. His face, when he turned to give H'Narth his news, needed no interpretation.

"He speaks the truth." Kaathos nodded.

"The Vulcan has been in telepathic communication with the Moranan leader. He can lead you to the source and assist in dismantling the device. His coordinates will be relayed to you immediately along with those of Stephen Blackstone and Dr McCoy. You will cooperate with them until the ship is out of danger. In return for Mr Spock's assistance, I have agreed to release the Enterprise from Klingon control. When the ship is secure, Captain Kirk and I will be returned to our respective ships."

"But Commander, the Enterprise, the hyperwarp."

"There is no hyperwarp!" Kaathos said, bitterly. "The porathium-bretinium mix is useless. Our own science officer has confirmed this with me. It has been disabled. The Morana are not going anywhere"

McCoy had insisted that he be included in the group boarding the Klingon ship. Concern for the Captain's well being had been his excuse but he was equally concerned about Spock's. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had about the bond with Blackstone. He met with the two Vulcans now, having returned, under Klingon escort, from sickbay where he had left Hunter trying to rest; the man had been distraught at the news of Kort's death, which McCoy had broken to him as gently as he could. It would be Hunter's sad task to tell T'Sorf, who was safely back on Skara in the care of Mara and Reena. McCoy did not envy him the task.

The ship's corridors were still unnaturally quiet, most of the crew having been beamed down to Skara. Klingon guards patrolled, but they had been informed of the temporary truce and though they glowered at McCoy as he walked past, they did not challenge him.

They materialised in the bulbous forward hull of the battlecruiser, in a dimly lit transporter room that set the theme for the corridors outside, dark and gloomy, lit only by strips of red light along the walls and floor. The design of Klingon ships was brooding and predatory, and the interior was utilitarian, unadorned, a vessel for transporting warriors to their next battle. Not a welcoming atmosphere. The temperature, McCoy noted was a few degrees higher than was comfortable for Humans – Klingons, like Vulcans liked warmth, a fact that seemed at odds with the former's cold-blooded nature.

H'Narth greeted them on the bridge, Caton hovering at his side, a menacing presence. McCoy studied him closely for signs of mental derangement, but the man had himself under control. On seeing him, Blackstone, the doctor noted had turned that peculiar shade of green that he had often seen Spock turn when in distress. It wasn't a promising start, but Spock at least seemed to be holding it together, for now.

"Where is Captain Kirk?" Spock asked. It had been a condition of their agreement that Kirk would be freed from any restraints ready for an exchange of captains when the explosive device had been defused. H'Narth touched a button on his console – a red button - everything here seemed to be red, the colour of anger and warning. "Bring the prisoner to the Bridge." He commanded, and they waited.

Within moments, Kirk was escorted onto the Bridge, hands bound. McCoy's heart lurched at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised, but as far as he could tell, the damage was superficial. Spock's only reaction was to stiffen his already rigid frame, as he looked in Kirk's direction. Jim managed a crooked smile that must have hurt like hell.

"I request that you untie his hands and allow our medical officer to attend him." Spock said, his request sounding more like an order. H'Narth scowled, but complied, grunting an order to Kirk's guard. McCoy crossed to him at once.

"What's going on." Jim asked in a low voice. "McCoy put him in the picture.

"So now we're cooperating with the Klingons for our mutual benefit. Well, there's a first time for everything," Kirk said, "Got anything for a headache, Bones?" A hypo hissed against his arm. McCoy nodded to Spock to let him know that Jim was all right.

"Time is of the essence Mr H'Narth. I suggest you show us to your engineering section."

"Wait a minute," Kirk said, "What about him?" All eyes followed Kirk's. Caton was still a picture of brooding, menacing calm. H'Narth shrugged.

"It will be for Commander Kaathos to decide, but Admiral Caton has a long history of service to the Klingon Empire. No doubt he will be welcomed to take his place at High Command even though he has outlived his usefulness as a spy."

"Spock?" Kirk, surprised. "You didn't ask for Caton to be surrendered to Starfleet as part of the deal?" Spock hesitated, unusual for him.

"It… must have escaped my attention amidst the other pressing matters to attend to." He looked at Blackstone in what seemed momentary confusion.

"May I remind you, Captain, that you are in no position to make threats," said H'Narth, "There is still a strong Klingon presence on your ship; we will retake the bridge and engineering sections eventually. And I could destroy the Enterprise in a heartbeat. Commander Kaathos would be proud to die an honourable death in battle."

At H'Narth's warning, Caton smiled at Kirk, his eyes glinting with cold pleasure. McCoy glanced at Blackstone and was surprised by what he saw. Just for a second, the young Vulcan's lips had curled into a mocking smile, as though he knew he had the better of Caton. McCoy's gaze travelled to Spock and he was startled to see the First Officer staring at Blackstone in confusion. Then, just as suddenly Spock seemed to recover, but McCoy was left with a deepening sense of unease about the meld.

If the rest of the Klingon ship had seemed dark and oppressive, engineering was still more so. For the Enterprise crew, this was a rare glimpse into the inner workings of a Class D7 Klingon battlecruiser, details about which were known only through information gained clandestinely or from Klingon informers. Mr Scott would have given his eyeteeth to be on this trip, but he and Nancy Weston were still needed aboard the Enterprise.

All engineering levels seemed to pulse with an energy of their own. Scotty claimed to be able to sense the slightest alteration in the Enterprise's throbbing rhythms, so attuned was he to his ship's changing moods. Here, in the bowels of the Klingon ship, Kirk, Spock and McCoy had a sense of what Scotty meant, for here, nothing felt right. From the huge, exposed, skeletal structures towering overhead to a depth of three decks, to the jutting edges and unfamiliar layout of workstations, it was truly an alien environment. Not the warm beating heart of the ship, like the Enterprise's engineering deck, but a diseased, alien counterpart. Despite the depth, the area was no less oppressive than the corridors because of the towering, yet crushing presence of exposed, ugly machinery.

"Why this is hell, nor are we out of it," McCoy quoted, grim-faced.

"Where is the device?" H'Narth demanded. Spock searched his mind for the images he had seen in Piklamer's mind but as he tried to remember a searing pain cut through his head, making him stumble backwards off-balance.

"What is it Spock?" Spcok was aware of Kirk and McCoy moving towards him but his skull was exploding with pain and he sank to his knees, hands covering his head. "Spock!" Kirk's voice now, alarmed. Spock looked at Blackstone, and McCoy followed his gaze, suddenly understanding.

"It's you. You're doing this to him." He said, as Blackstone looked stonily back at him.

"Jim, their minds are linked. Blackstone's inside Spock's head. Stephen, what are you doing to him?"

"I cannot allow Caton to go unpunished." Blackstone said, coldly. "If the device is dismantled, Caton sails off under Klingon protection. Ravik, all these years spent tracking him down, Kort's death, all will have been for nothing. I can't allow that to happen. He dies, now, with this ship and all of us."

"That's not your call." Kirk said, harshly. H'Narth was not in the mood for negotiation. He levelled his disruptor at Blackstone.

"No!" McCoy yelled, "He's deep in a meld with Spock. If you kill him, the link will be broken abruptly. Spock wouldn't survive that and nor would your ship."

H'Narth snarled, "We are running out of time."

"Stephen, think what you're doing. Caton will be brought to justice, no matter what today's outcome. I will personally see to it that Starfleet hunts him down," Kirk said.

Blackstone shook his head. Kirk feared that he had moved beyond reason.

"You don't understand anything." Blackstone replied, bitterly. "Do you think Caton has accomplished what he has acting alone?" Kirk looked baffled.

"Tell him." Blackstone said, his eyes boring into Caton's.

"It is true that I have 'friends' in high places." Said Caton, smugly.

"Friends who are willing to turn a blind eye to mass murder to get what they want. Why do you think the perpetrators of the attack on Ravik were never brought to justice, Captain?" Kirk could only stare, dumbfounded.

"Because Caton's 'friends' endorsed their crimes when they heard what the Morana had to offer. Caton didn't just promise the hyperwarp to the Klingons, he also promised it to Starfleet only in Starfleet's case, he never intended to deliver. But as long as Starfleet believed the Morana would hand over the technology, they were willing to forgive Piklamer's crimes." He went on, "Look at him. He will not deny it because he is proud of his achievement – he has shown that Starfleet is as cold-bloodedy murderous as any Klingon when it comes to getting what it wants."

"No!" Kirk yelled, "Even if what you say is true, I refuse to believe that Starfleet is rotten to the core. There may be corrupt men and women in its ranks, but they are not the norm. Stephen, you have to believe that. Don't let this madman let you commit murder to prove his point. You have to be better than him."

"He murdered my parents, Kort…"

"Kort would not want you to commit murder to avenge him. He was an honourable man. As is Hunter."

"They too, sought justice."

"Justice, not revenge." Kirk risked a sideways glance at Spock. The First Officer was curled on the floor now, cradling his head in his hands, McCoy kneeling, helpless, beside him,

"Stephen, you are a Vulcan…"

"Only in name. I don't belong with Vulcans any more."

"Everyone belongs somewhere. Stephen, you can find peace, but not like this, not by getting blood on your hands."

They were almost out of time and Kirk was out of words. Blackstone's mask of calm had long since slipped, leaving his emotions showing raw in his face. He turned away from Kirk and for a moment it seemed that it was over, that Stephen meant them all to die if that meant Caton perishing with them.

"_Stephen_!" Spock's voice. The older Vulcan had drawn himself into a sitting position, and was looking at Blackstone. Their eyes locked.

"_Stephen, you are a Vulcan_." Blackstone heard Spock's voice in his head and he resisted, but Spock's presence asserted itself more insistently the more he tried to block it out until he could no longer be sure which thoughts were his own. He found himself opening up to the older Vulcan and his life flashed between both their minds in a swirling collage of images - he was a boy on Ravik, suddenly orphaned and fighting for survival on a hostile world; he was a young man on Vulcan struggling with customs he could no longer relate to; he was a man consumed with hatred and a lust for revenge.

"_There is no other way_!" he screamed silently and the answer came back immediately, "_There is always another way_."

"_You want me to act logically. I cannot_."

"_Then act humanely_."

"_Because acting humanely is logical?_"

"_Because it is the right thing to do_."

"_A categorical imperative?_"

"_Doing what is right is not always the logical or rational thing to do_."

"_You believe that?_"

"_I have seen it demonstrated_."

"_Amongst your human friends?"_

"_Amongst all races in the galaxy_."

"_I want him dead, but more than that, I want him to suffer_."

"_Your feelings are understandable. Powerful emotions like the desire for revenge are strong in Vulcans. Stronger than in other races – they have to be tamed, controlled. Unbridled emotion is the enemy of reason, of intellectual attainment. Amongst Vulcans, learning restraint is a matter of survival. Only when it has been mastered, can we permit ourselves to make judgements about what is right and wrong. Ultimately, that is what allows us to temper our logic with humanity, Sevak_."

"_You use my Vulcan name._"

"_You are a Vulcan. By any name_."

The link was breaking. Blackstone could feel Spock's strength waning, and he too was too exhausted to continue the struggle for control; moreover, he found that he no longer wished it. Momentarily confused he looked around the assembled group, returning finally to Spock who was struggling to stand, then, he released him.

Turning to H'Narth, Spock said, "Look in the main engineering circuit bay." As McCoy steadied Spock, Kirk turned to Caton, "This isn't over. I meant what I said, Caton. You will be brought to justice." Caton sneered,

"How, Kirk? You will have to find me first. The Klingons won't hand me over."

"Don't be so sure of that, Caton." Kirk said, wearily. He had made Blackstone a promise and he would do what he could, but the whole sordid business was going to sour Starfleet for a while. There would have to be a witch hunt, and he wondered just how many men and women would emerge untarnished from its findings.

"What just happened here?" Kirk said, turning away from Caton to Spock, McCoy and Blackstone.

"I owe Mr Spock an apology." Said Blackstone, "I took advantage of his vulnerable mental state to block his memory of the location of the device. When he tried to remember, he suffered excrutiating pain, but it would have caused him no lasting harm."

"Unlike blowing us all to pieces." McCoy said, highlighting the illogic.

"I owe you all an apology."

"Yes you do, mister. What brought you to your senses?" Kirk asked. Blackstone looked at Spock. Kirk nodded.

"I am quite sure we all owe Mr Spock a debt of thanks."

McCoy was starting to feel restless, "Sooner we get off this damn ship, the better I'll feel. And you two are in need of my attention." He said, eyeing Kirk and Spock. Nodding, Kirk turned to H'Narth.

"H'Narth. We've kept our part of the bargain. Let's find out if your Commander Kaathos is an honourable man."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

In a few hours, the exchange had taken place. The Morana had been rounded up with the cooperation of Kaathos's men and were being detained in the brig. Already, the Klingon battle cruiser was preparing to warp out of Skarran space, but the Enterprise was obliged to linger until the last of its crew had been beamed aboard from their temporary exile on Skara.

Kirk had spent a reluctant hour in sickbay being fussed over by McCoy. He had only escaped by promising to return immediately if he showed any of the symptoms of concussion. An even more reluctant Spock was still confined to sickbay; Jim did not fully understand what it was that Blackstone was helping him shield against. McCoy had been a little vague about it all, possibly because it involved the unfathomable mysteries of Vulcan telepathy.

At least the doctor no longer seemed anxious about Spock's recovery – his physical wounds had been treated and the antidote to the Skarran poison had worked as well on the Vulcan as it had on the humans it had been used on. Kirk had overheard McCoy muttering to Spock about the mind meld with Blackstone and whether he felt strong enough to break the link. They had stopped speaking abruptly as Kirk approached and he got the message that what they were discussing was confidential. Bones wouldn't shut him out for any other reason.

In the quietness of his cabin, which still bore the signs of Caton's angry outburst, Kirk sighed. Apart from finding Spock alive, their mission to Skara had been deeply unsatisfying. He would need to start filing his report to Starfleet soon, but who to trust? Kirk was no politician. As soon as he could, he would contact George Woodhouse and seek his advice. In all likelihood, Caton would betray his accomplices as part of his plan to discredit Starfleet. His plans to give the hyperwarp to the Klingon Empire had failed but bringing Starfleet into disrepute had been another part of his plan and in this it seemed, he would succeed.

Kirk's intercom buzzed. McCoy. Checking up on him, no doubt, but when the medic spoke, it was not to ask how the Captain was faring, but to request that he come down to sickbay on an urgent matter. _What now?_ Thought Kirk, wearily, but he was already on his feet.

It was late in the evening, the lighting in sickbay subdued, calming. Kirk was surprised to see Spock in McCoy's office; he had assumed the Vulcan would be resting under doctor's orders. McCoy seemed excited.

"Jim. I was checking through some bulletins that have been posted in the past couple of weeks." Kirk waited patiently, wondering what could be of such interest in McCoy's medical briefings that it warranted calling the Captain to his office at this hour.

"It seems that there's been an outbreak of Rigellian plague on Melthus IV." Kirk frowned, trying to place the planet McCoy was referring to.

"Melthus IV." He said, rubbing his chin. "That's a Klingon colony, I believe. Not too far from here."

"Indeed it is, Captain." Spock said. Both he and McCoy were looking at him in what Kirk could only decribe as conspiratorial fashion.

"Gentlemen, I fail to see…" The penny dropped. Kirk stopped mid-sentence, looking from one to the other of his officers, catching their mood.

"The ro-co- sy- minite," he said, already heading for the door.

Commander Kaathos pressed a fist to his chest then extended his arm in the Klingon salute. The head and shoulders of one of the most powerful people at Klingon High Command, Kallus, wavered on the viewscreen illuminating the gloomy bridge of the battlecruiser, then disappeared, leaving a shimmering view of stars. He had just issued Kaathos with his orders.

Less than half an hour ago, Captain James T Kirk had contacted Kaathos and advised him that a deadly strain of Rigellian plague was raging on Melthus IV, one of Klingon's most valued and lucrative colonies. Not only was it mineral rich; its position near the neutral zone made it of significant strategic importance and the Melthans were vital Klingon allies.

What Kirk did not know, was that at least six members of Klingon High Command and their families were currently posted there, on an inspection tour and if what his superior at High Command had just told him were true, three of these had already contracted the plague and would be dead in two days without treatment. A consignment of rocosyminite was on its way but had been delayed by meteor storms and could not hope to arrive in less than six days, by which time many more would have succumbed to the plague.

If what Kirk had told him were true, then Kaathos could become the hero of the hour. High Command had been astounded to hear that he could secure a supply of rocosyminite and have it on Melthus in less than two days. What was the life of a Human informer, whose treachery was now known to Starfleet, compared to this? If Kaathos had harboured any doubts about making the exchange, Kallus' promise of promotion had swayed him absolutely. Caton, bound and under heavy guard was already on his way to the transporter room.

"Captain Kirk. Given that the rocosyminite is going to be put to good use, and given that you would have had no leverage with the Klingons if we had not had it aboard the Aurora in the first place, can't you consider a little leniency when it comes to deciding our fate?" Nancy Weston's plea was exasperating. She was, he realised, a skilled manipulator, and there was some truth in what she said, but it in the end it was her lack of remorse that decided him. It was time she and her reprobate husband grew up and learned that their actions had consequences.

"I will hand you over to the authorities at Starbase Ten. It will be up to them to decide your fate. However, I'll make a plea for leniency on your behalf given that your cooperation led to a favourable outcome." He ignored Nancy's shriek of thanks and turned abruptly on his heel.

Kirk had assigned Sulu and a number of security personnel to take the Aurora to Starbase Ten. Hunter and Blackstone, he had assigned to the Shadow with instructions to rendezvous with the Enterprise at Starbase Ten also. Kravok and T'Hana would accompany them. They had opted to uproot themselves until such time as the Klingon Empire changed its ways. Kirk could not help thinking that their wait would be a long one, whatever Kort had believed.

Kort. Kirk had not had an opportunity to get to know the brave Klingon. Blackstone had been affected deeply by his death; T'Sorf's loss was incalculable. As for Hunter, he acted like a man who had lost a part of himself. Kirk looked across at Spock's empty science station. The Vulcan was still in sickbay.

Jim shuddered, thinking of how he had felt seeing that empty station when Spock was stranded on Skara, his fate unknown. Time and again, on other missions, he had refused to confront the possibility of Spock's mortality. McCoy, he knew, had faced that abyss, had brought Spock back from its edge enough times to know the reality of it. Jim couldn't afford to follow him there.

In that moment he understood why Sam's death had troubled him so much lately, why he had been so irritated when Spock had offered his condolences in the turbolift on the anniversary of Sam's death. It seemed he had always known the answer to the question he had never allowed himself to ask about his brother's death, and it was time to stop feeling guilty about it.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

George Woodhouse greeted Kirk and McCoy like the old friends they were, before extending his hand to the Enterprise's Vulcan First Officer.

"Mr Spock, it's an honour to finally meet the man whom Jim Kirk and Len McCoy hold in such high esteem."

"Admiral." Spock inclined his head.

"This is a sordid business, gentlemen, and a sorry day for Starfleet." Kirk had briefed Woodhouse days ahead of their arrival at the Starbase and Woodhouse had already set wheels in motion to root out Caton's accomplices – an easy enough task as Caton, predictably, was only too willing to name names and bring shame on the Service.

"Some of them claim to have acted in what they believed was the best interests of the Federation – all those lives lost on Ravik in exchange for a piece of technology that would give us an advantage over our enemies and advance our knowledge of space travel."

"The end justifies the means." McCoy commented, his tone ironic,

"Not in this case, doctor, since the 'end' as you call it remains elusive," commented Spock. "Leaving aside any moral considerations." He added, deflecting further comment from McCoy.

"What will happen to Piklamer and his people?" Kirk asked.

"Too soon to say." Woodhouse replied. "They were responsible for destroying Ravik using weapons salvaged from their crashed ship, but they must have had help from the Klingons to launch these. Caton persuaded certain friends of his at Starfleet to cover this up with the promise that he would work with the Morana to develop their hyperwarp technology for the Federation."

"When he was really developing it for the Klingons," said Kirk, "And the Morana had their own agenda."

"I'd like to believe that Piklamer's fate wouldn't be determinred by considerations about his usefulness in carrying on the hyperwarp research." McCoy said, cynically.

"Intergalactic technology will be a reality one day soon, with or without the Morana's cooperation." Spock pointed out.

"What I still don't get is what set Ben Caton off on his treacherous path." Woodhouse said, "He had a promising career ahead of him."

"But not a brilliant one." Kirk said, "Unlike you."

"Are you suggesting Caton did all of this because of me?" Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. Woodhouse was sharp enough to notice. Kirk said,

"I asked my ensign to do some research into the Curie incident. He learned that Kort and Mark Hunter had been aboard and when he ran their profiles he discovered that both had been survivors of Ravik.

"He cross-referenced everything he had on Ravik and Curie, and Caton's name was one of the possible connections. Then he looked at Ben Caton's records and saw the information on Vascus.

"Chekov proved to be a pretty thorough investigator – he checked through records relating to Caton and this time your name kept coming up – graduated from the Academy in the same class, served together. Chekov looked farther back."

"I didn't know Ben before my academy days." Woodhouse said, puzzled.

Kirk paused, "George, there's no easy way of telling you this. Ben Caton knew all about you for years before he met you. Your father had a relationship with a colonist on Minerva II – she never told him that relationship produced a son, never contacted him again. The woman's name was Alana Caton."

Woodhouse stared at Kirk in disbelief.

"Are you telling me that Ben Caton is my half brother?

"I know this must be a shock to you, George."

"He never told me." Woodhouse said, "All those years and he never told me." He shook his head.

"Ensign Chekov had been on his way to relay his findings to me when he was attacked and Dr McCoy was obliged to put him in stasis until we reached Starbase Ten."

"From the psych tests Dr McCoy has run on Caton so far, it seems likely that he was motivated by a sense of betrayal and desire for revenge – on you for being the son who wasn't rejected, as he saw it, on Starfleet because your father was in the Service." Woodhouse was staring at Kirk as though the Captain were a madman.

"George, this is probably a little hard to take in, "McCoy said, "Obviously, Caton's actions were extreme by the standards of most rational people."

"You mean he's crazy?" Asked Woodhouse.

"I haven't ruled that out," McCoy answered, reluctant to tell the Admiral that madness in the sense that he implied, did not provide an accurate definition of Caton's psychological profile. "George, Caton didn't do what he did because of you – he did it because of the kind of man he was."

"If I'd known he was my brother.."

"It would have made no difference." Kirk said, "Do you remember telling me that you once believed that you and he were friends? That's not how Caton ever saw you, and he already knew that you were brothers. You helped him at the Academy, you got him his first posting – you were loyal to him – a brother couldn't have done more." Woodhouse nodded.

"You offered him the light of friendship but he saw only shadow." Spock said, ignoring the peculiar look McCoy gave him.

"I grew up an only child." Woodhouse said, quietly, "I often wished I'd had a brother." He smiled sadly, appreciating the irony.

For a moment the Admiral seemed lost in thought, then he said, more cheerfully, "Dinner this evening at eight. All three of you. Kat won't take no for an answer. And I've invited Diana King, too. She's been cleared, you know of having any knowledge of what the Westons were transporting. She did blackmail them to get you on board, but it was her knowledge of other questionable cargoes that they'd been transporting that gave her leverage, not the rocosyminite." As the Admiral turned his motorised chair towards his desk, Kirk nodded, glad that his old flame had been cleared of blame.

"By the way, Diana's particularly looking forward to being introduced to you, Mr Spock." At this, Kirk and McCoy exchanged conspiratorial smiles. Spock noticed, but the meaning eluded him.

After the memorial service for Kort, Mark Hunter thanked Kirk, Spock and McCoy for attending. He seemed to have aged decades in the past few days and had the air of a man for whom the best part of life was in the past.

Asked by Kirk, if Hunter would get over his latest tragedy, McCoy had replied, "I don't know, Jim. He lost his wife and children on Ravik, now he's lost a man who saw him through that time and whom he regarded as a brother. There's only so much getting over a person can accommodate – I suspect he'll be less than the man he was."

"T'Sorf needs him." Kirk had pointed out. He's going to look after the boy, but he won't be alone. Kravok and T'Hana have decided to throw in their lot with the Federation. They also want to provide support with T'Sorf. As for T'Sorf, he's been scarred by his father's death but he's determined to prove that Kort's belief in a future of peace and cooperation between the Klingons and the Federation will be a reality one day."

"And Blackstone," McCoy smiled, "Have you seen the way he's attached himself to Spock? I fear that young man is going to turn into another, emotionless, pointy-eared computer."

"I can think of worse fates." Kirk said,

"Yeah, me too," grinned McCoy.

McCoy found Spock resting in the quarters they had been assigned on Starbase Ten. To his surprise, Stephen was not with him.

"Have you arranged leave of absence to return to Vulcan to consult a healer, yet?" McCoy asked him.

"There is no need, doctor." Spock answered. McCoy looked at him, searchingly, "Are you sure, Spock? The mind-sifter?"

"Is no longer a problem." Spock replied, quietly.

"How so Spock? Without help last time you almost went crazy, remember."

"I have not been without help." McCoy looked at him, sharply.

"Blackstone?"

"Sevak."

"So, he's giving up his identity?"

"No, doctor. He is reclaiming it." McCoy nodded.

"What will he do now, Spock? Return to Vulcan, I suppose." He could not hide the note of disappointment in his voice.

"He too needs help, doctor. And he wishes to become a healer." The news seemed to cheer McCoy up. He thought of how the young Vulcan had tried to help Nyreea, how he had risked his own sanity to merge minds with Spock.

"Well, I reckon that's a noble calling for him to follow."

"Indeed, Doctor. I believe he is well suited to a profession for which a sense of humanity is a fundamental requirement." Spock said, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before each looked away.

"Tell me Spock," McCoy said, lingering "What were you planning on doing when you said you wanted to make a deal with Piklamer after Jim was taken to the Klingon ship? Would you really have made that trade? After all, you weren't fully in control of your emotions and you were merged with Blackstone."

"I do not consider it logical to waste time speculating on what I might have done, only on what I did." Spock said, but, as McCoy turned to go, the Vulcan stopped him in his tracks.

"Dr McCoy."

"Yes Spock?"

"I would have done what was right."

"I know, Spock."

It was late evening. Kirk, Spock and McCoy had retired after a pleasant evening spent in the company of the Admiral, his wife and Diana King. Kirk looked around at the comfortable quarters and sighed.

"Missing the Enterprise?" McCoy asked, astutely. Kirk smiled. For a non-telepath, McCoy had a way of knowing exactly what people were thinking. He nodded. "I'm looking forward to resuming our mission."

"Captain, may I ask if you have contacted Starfleet regarding Sylviana and her people?" Spock asked.

"I've spoken to George. He knows the right people to contact. He's optimistic that Starfleet will be able to find a solution that will work for all the Skarrans."

"Especially now they know about the bretinium." McCoy remarked, sourly.

"Always the cynic, eh, Bones?" Kirk said, crossing to the window and looking up, seeking the spot where the Enterprise awaited them, and feeling impatient to return.

"Why isn't one galaxy enough? How long will it be before we perfect the hyperwarp and start reaching further out than ever before?"

Spock cleared his throat, ready with an approximation, but Kirk shook his head, smiling, "I don't want to know, Spock. I know it's our destiny, and I'm as impatient as the next person to embrace all that the Universe has to offer, but I wonder whether Kort's belief in a future of mutual respect and cooperation between all our peoples wouldn't be a nobler destiny to strive for? Kort and Hunter's friendship showed us what's possible. Whatever else is out there," he said, looking out at the sudden explosion of stars in the night sky, "Let's hope we can learn to face it as friends."

The End

T**_hanks to everyone for reading. Hope you like the way it all ends. Aurelan_**


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